The Jasper Forest

by Julia Gray

  After that, it became clear that the sharaken had begun to take Terrel very seriously indeed. Nevertheless, it seemed that they were still not prepared to be rushed into any decision. That evening, presumably after conferring with his colleagues, Reader visited Terrel in his quarters and told him that they needed to study his dreams in greater detail. To that end, an oneiromantic ritual had been arranged. It would take place in two days' time, at the full of the Red Moon.

  'What will it involve?' Terrel asked apprehensively.

  'There's no need to worry,' Reader assured him. 'I will be sharing your journey. The exact form of the rite will depend upon our readings of the heavens, but this will be your chance to prove your worth once and for all.'

  'What if I refuse to take part?'

  'That in itself will answer most of our questions. But I don't think you'll refuse. Look inside yourself, Terrel. Have faith in your true character. If you can do that, you have nothing to fear.'

  When the sharaken's leader had departed, Terrel turned to Alyssa, who was still sharing his room at night.

  I have to do this, don't I?

  I would trust you with my life, she replied. Why should this be any different?

  The ceremony began, as Terrel had expected, inside the dome at the top of the Red Tower. The coloured glass turned the evening sky to a deep purple, in which the Red Moon rode in her full glory. Reader and Terrel sat facing each other in the centre of the gathering, next to a small, glowing brazier. The other sharaken were all crowded around the edge of the room. Alyssa was there too, her white fur turned pink.

  At a signal from one of the onlookers, two men came forward, bringing with them a metal tripod and a silver bowl. They placed these so that the bowl was above the brazier, and immediately - even as the attendant withdrew - a strange scent began to rise into the warm air. There was a colourless liquid in the bowl but, as Terrel watched, it turned first milky white and then pale yellow. As soon as this transformation was complete, Reader leant forward and handed Terrel a small ladle.

  'Drink.'

  Terrel took the spoon with some misgivings. Although he wanted to ask what the peculiar concoction was, he knew that the answer wouldn't really make any difference.

  He couldn't back out now. To do so would condemn him in the eyes of the sharaken.

  Carefully, he dipped the ladle into the liquid, then brought it to his lips.

  The fumes seemed to fill his head, making him dizzy, and when he tipped the contents of the spoon into his mouth he almost gagged. The yellow fluid was only slightly warm, but it tasted incredibly bitter, and it burned his tongue and throat as he swallowed rapidly, hoping he would not choke. His eyes were watering as he handed the ladle back to Reader. The sharakan nodded his approval, and drank himself before insisting that the boy repeat his performance. In all both drank four times, by which time the bowl was almost empty.

  'It is done.' Reader rose to his feet, and two of his colleagues came to stand beside him.

  As Terrel tried to stand, others came forward to either side of him - and he soon understood why they seemed so anxious to be of assistance. As he got up his head started spinning and his legs almost buckled, but he managed to stay upright - in spite of feeling an odd sense of dislocation. It was as if the rest of the world was moving in slow motion. He tried to ask Reader what would happen next, but his lips and tongue were numb and would not work, so he simply let himself be led away.

  Once back in his own room, Terrel was helped to lie down on his bed, and then his escorts departed, leaving Alyssa as his only company. The last thing he heard before he fell into a deep sleep was the sound of the door being closed

  — and then locked and barred from the outside.

  *

  When Terrel woke up, the early light of morning was filtering in through the skylights. His head and arm hurt, and his mouth was dry, but the worst thing was the horrible smell in the chamber, at once sickly and almost metallic.

  Then he saw that there was a dark sticky substance on his hands, and he began to feel ill. He could remember nothing of the previous night, and wondered if he had somehow cut himself while he was dreaming. His left forearm was beginning to throb painfully, and when he peered at it he saw a ragged tear in the skin. Dried blood was smeared around the wound, and a few fresh drops were oozing out even now.

  He sat up gingerly, and saw his knife on the floor next to the bed. He had no idea how it had got there.

  The snow fox lay curled up against the door, and it seemed odd that Alyssa should sleep later than he had. It was then - with a jolt of dread that hit him like a punch to the stomach — that he realized the fox was lying very still. His own discomfort forgotten now, he tumbled out of bed and knelt next to the animal. Its white fur was matted with drying blood, and there was a brown stain on the stone floor. Terrel's heart was in his mouth as he realized that the fox was beyond help. Its throat had been cut.

  Chapter Forty

  It was only after he'd finished being sick that Terrel was able to begin thinking clearly. The horror he felt was compounded by the certainty that he must have been responsible for the death of the fox. But what terrified him most was the thought that he might have killed Alyssa too.

  Forcing himself to return to the grisly remains, he examined the uppermost ear, desperately checking to see if the ring was there. Then he lifted the lifeless head to inspect the other ear, praying that he would not find anything. When he'd assured himself that the ring had gone, he felt a small measure of relief. If the link had still been in place, there would have been no hope. It would have meant that Alyssa's spirit had been unable to leave, and that she would be dead. It was even possible that her ghost might have been annihilated, or cast adrift in some spectral limbo, and so be lost to him forever.

  However, his relief was only partial. He didn't know what would have happened to the ring if Alyssa had still been within the fox when it was killed. Would it have disappeared as the animal - and Alyssa -

  died? The ring's absence was not conclusive proof that she had escaped. But it did at least allow Terrel a little hope. Even so, he knew he'd let her down.

  Alyssa had trusted him with her life, just as she'd said she would, and Terrel wondered if that trust had been misplaced.

  He let the animal's head fall back and returned to his bed, his mind in turmoil. From a distance, the snow fox's body looked small and rather sad, curled around the wound that had robbed it of life, so that it looked as if it had just fallen asleep. Terrel knew better, of course, and he tried to remember what had actually happened. The last thing he could recall was being laid on his bed and hearing the key turn in the lock. That had been after the ritual. Bile rose in his throat again as he recalled the bitter taste of the liquid - and in that moment everything became clear. Whatever that vile potion had been, it had first intoxicated him and then rendered him unconscious -

  just as the wine and smoke had done at the festival in Tiscamanita. And then, just as had happened there, Jax had taken over.

  Having accepted the chance to control not only his brother's mind but his body too, the prince would have been frustrated to find himself locked in a small room. If she had still been there, Alyssa would have regarded the interloper as her enemy; if she had left, then the fox would have been frightened and enraged by its inexplicable imprisonment. A confrontation had been inevitable.

  The Red Moon had been full - just as at Tiscamanita - and, whatever its supposed sphere of influence in Macul, the

  people of Vadanis believed that one of its effects was to promote violence.

  The wound on Terrel's arm was almost certainly a bite, and Jax had used the knife to retaliate in the most brutal fashion. And then, finding that he had nothing else to do, or possibly as the potion's influence had worn off, the prince had left — leaving Terrel to face the consequences of his actions.

  Oh, Alyssa, I'm so sorry, Terrel thought. Why did I agree to take part in the ritual? Why? Please be alive, my love. I promis
e never to do anything as stupid ever again.

  He continued to chastise himself for some time, holding himself very still to minimize the throbbing of his arm, and both longing for and dreading the moment when someone would come and unlock the door.

  The atmosphere in the room was now more foul than ever, and Terrel forced himself to stand up on the bed, bringing his face level with the barred window so that he could breathe some fresh air. It was then that he realized Jax had found something else to amuse him.

  The castle was covered in a deep blanket of fresh white snow.

  'You say you can't actually remember any of this?' 'No.'

  'Then how can you be sure this is what happened?' Terrel was being interviewed by three sharaken — although only two of them had spoken so far. He didn't recognize any of them, though it was possible they might have been present at the eclipse or among the onlookers at the ritual. The one who was questioning him now was known as Eirenicon, and the other as Emptor, but Terrel thought that - like Reader - these were probably titles rather than their names. The silent one, the most intimidating of the three, simply watched Terrel, his cold black eyes never blinking.

  'Something like this happened to me before,' Terrel replied. 'I told you. In a place called Tiscamanita.'

  'A place we've never heard of,' Emptor reminded him.

  'Look,' Terrel said, tired of repeating himself. 'I would never have done such a horrible thing. Reader must have told you how much the spirit inside the fox meant to me.'

  'And yet it was killed by your knife,' Eirenicon stated.

  'And it was your hand that wielded it,' his partner added.

  'I'm not denying that,' the boy replied, 'but the enchanter was controlling me. How many more times do I have to say this?' The interrogation had been going on for a long time, and Terrel was weary and miserable — and becoming increasingly angry.

  When the door of his evil-smelling room had been opened, the sense of shock among his hosts had been palpable. The body of the snow fox had been taken away for burial, and some of the acolytes had begun the unpleasant task of cleaning the chamber. Terrel's blood-stained robe had been removed, and in return he'd received his own clothes, which were mercifully free of any reminder of the night's events.

  'The enchanter is your twin brother, whom you've never met, and who invades your dreams?' Eirenicon said.

  'Yes! He can't make me do anything unless I'm very drunk or . . . None of this would have happened if you hadn't made me drink that evil stuff.'

  The third sharakan spoke for the first time. Although his voice was soft, his eyes lost none of their intensity.

  'Inanimate objects cannot in themselves be evil. It's how they are put to use that determines whether their effect is good or bad.'

  Terrel wondered suddenly if this was the Collector. He hadn't seen his face or heard his voice when they'd met in Fenduca, but he felt the same sense of chilly emptiness about this man.

  'Well, this was pretty bad, wasn't it?' Terrel said, then realized he was condemning himself with his own words. He wanted to shout at them. It wasn't me! It wasn't me! But how could he do that in the face of all the evidence?

  His only hope was in reasoned argument. 'Where is Reader?' he asked instead.

  The two interrogators glanced at each other.

  'He has not yet emerged from his dream-trance,' Eirenicon replied, his concern obvious.

  'When he does, he'll be able to confirm what I've been saying, won't he?'

  Terrel said.

  No one answered.

  'What's the matter?' the boy asked. 'Is he dead too?' He had not meant this seriously, and he was stunned by the shocked reaction it provoked.

  'We are not certain of his condition,' the Collector said after a short silence, 'but it seems unlikely that he will be able to corroborate your story in the near future. It's possible he now lives solely in the realm of dreams.'

  'You mean he might never wake up?' Terrel exclaimed, aghast at the idea. 'Not ever?' Would that make him a sleeper? he wondered. Surely this was different.

  'The moons will decide,' Emptor replied piously.

  'And even if he does not,' Eirenicon added, 'the moons will provide us with an opportunity to join his dreams.'

  'When?'

  'Five days from now, at the full of the Amber Moon.'

  'Do you really have to wait that long?' Terrel was anxious to leave the fortress, to continue his journey with or without the sharaken's promise of help.

  'There is powerful magic involved here,' the Collector explained. 'Any man may wield a blade, but to bring snow on such a scale out of a summer sky is an enchantment to be reckoned with.'

  'That wasn't me!'

  'Your other self again?' the dark-eyed man remarked. 'Either way, we have to be sure. Five days is not so long to wait.'

  It was only then that Terrel realized he had no choice in the matter. Whatever his wishes, the fortress would remain his prison until the sharaken decided he was free to leave. He was a suspect in a crime no one yet understood - and justice here had to wait upon the pleasure of the moons.

  During the next four days, the sharaken did their best to ensure that Terrel did not feel like a prisoner. Whether this was because they genuinely believed him worthy of their trust, or because they couldn't conceive of any outsider constituting any real danger to them made no difference to the outcome. He was free to wander inside the fortress, and although no one mentioned the possibility of his leaving - and indeed he never came across any way out — his movements were not obviously restricted. He did not try to intrude upon private quarters, or to open locked doors, but he explored everywhere else with impunity.

  He climbed all four towers, wandered through halls and cloisters, visited various shrines and places of study, inspected kitchens and store-rooms, and walked along several sections of the massive outer walls. He also went to the fruit and vegetable gardens, where seemingly endless supplies of food were grown. Not even the unsea-sonal snow - which had melted in a few hours, causing some inconvenient flooding - had affected the abundance of the gardens' produce. But although the air was scented with their fragrance, Terrel was never able to find the flower garden.

  He witnessed his hosts in many of their activities -from such mundane tasks as drawing water from the wells or feeding their flocks of sheep and goats, to the more rarefied occupations that seemed closer to the life of a mystic.

  These included quiet periods of meditation and trance, as well as study of the heavens and of what they called the 'dream-oracles'. These, Terrel discovered, were records which had been kept for centuries, and which were added to each day - records of every important vision from every sharakan who had ever lived in the fortress. Endless rows of books and scrolls filled several rooms, and researchers pored endlessly over the sometimes fragile documents. Others were more intent on adding their own contributions to the libraries and, although most of these had come from normal dreams, some of the sharaken were prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to increase their chances of making a significant new discovery. Although food was plentiful, some of the mystics consumed nothing more than water, valuing it -according to one of Terrel's informants - not just for its cleansing properties, but also for its only partially

  understood magical qualities. A few employed even more extreme measures, depriving themselves of sleep for days on end in the hope that this would lead to revelations and augury. The most common technique used to keep them awake was to employ shifts of acolytes, who rang bells or crashed metal rods together as soon as their master looked as though he might fall asleep. This explained the noises that had disturbed Terrel's first night in the castle.

  Those who had not slept for more than seven days had sparks of madness in their eyes, but even then they did not flinch from their self-imposed tasks.

  Terrel was also an onlooker at several rituals, including a complicated ceremony in which two acolytes were accepted into the ranks of the sharaken —

  a tran
sformation symbolized by the shaving off of their hair and the application of tattoos to their eyelids. He never discovered what trials the young men had had to go through to prove their worthiness, or what privileges their elevation entitled them to, but it was abundantly clear that they were both overjoyed and honoured by their new status.

  After a while, Terrel began to overcome his natural reticence, and he would talk to anyone he met, receiving a variety of responses - from friendly garrulousness to monosyllabic suspicion - but his overriding impression was one of austere reverence. These men had all given up the outside world -

  including any contact with women - for the sake of oneiromancy. Their dedication to their calling was impressive, and Terrel was struck by many outward similarities with the equally obsessive behaviour of the seers of his own homeland. Even though the astrologers there considered themselves to be scientists, while the sharaken thought of themselves as mystics, the practical consequences of their endeavours were often similar. Just as most of the affairs of the people of Vadanis were constrained by the dictates of the lunar cycles, so was every activity within the fortress community. All ceremonial occasions, periods of fasting, meditation, study and even sleep, were fixed according to configurations in the sky.

  The one mystery that Terrel could not solve, in spite of all his investigations, was the reason behind the sharaken's way of life. What was the point of all their efforts? It was true that they sent occasional messages to the sky-watchers around the country, but - compared to the constant flow of information and decrees from the seers to the people of the Floating Islands -

  this seemed a vague and infrequent process. Beyond that, everything they did appeared to be inward-looking, academic exercises that were ends in themselves. Even the still enigmatic concept of dream-trading did not seem to have any practical application.

  It was only when Terrel came across a familiar face in one of the courtyards that some of the answers fell into place. It took a few moments to place the acolyte, but when he did he called out and the young man stopped and looked round.