by Jack Massa
He sat down, jaw set firm, and looked expectantly at the others.
Eben stood next. “As for what is best for Glyssa, she needs to speak for herself. She has not said she wants Amlina's help, or will accept it. As for Amlina, it is true we have benefited from our alliance. But so has she. We fulfilled the deal we struck with her. So my choice would be to sail for home—except for one thing, which Draven did not mention. The Archimage swore she would track us down and kill us. So far it has not happened, but that does not mean it won't. If Kosimo the serd could reach us with sorcery, even on Ilga, then I must believe Beryl could do the same. I believe that if we must face Beryl, our chances are much better with Amlina than without her. So I vote to stick with her.”
As soon as he sat, Karrol rose, her face red and sweating. “This decision is harder than Draven and Eben make it sound. Regarding Beryl, it might be far more dangerous for us to go with Amlina than not. Beryl might never choose to hunt for us; Amlina is her true enemy. But I do feel sympathy for Amlina. She saved my eye, and has been a good friend to us. Were it just for myself, and I think for Brinda too, I would vote to go home. We are Iruks; I want to see our mothers and be with our own people. But none of that—none of it—matters to me in comparison to what is best for Glyssa. So I need to hear from her before I vote.”
She sat down and there came another silence.
“I agree with everything Karrol said,” Brinda murmured, without standing up. “I have nothing to add.”
The mates stared at the stones and the gentle, rising steam. Glyssa felt all of their minds on her, waiting. Reluctantly, she stood.
“I am grateful to you, mates, for caring so much about me. And I am sorry, and so ashamed, for the grief I have caused you.” At this, they uttered protests and words of consolation. Glyssa lifted her hand and continued: “As for what we should do … I do not know if Amlina can help me. But I know she will try, with all her heart. I felt that last night when she spoke to us. I've always been suspicious of her. She is so different from us. But she does care about us, and we owe her much. I think Draven loves her, and might even break with the klarn if we don't sail with her.”
“I have not said that,” Draven protested.
“No,” Glyssa answered softly. “You have not … Karrol, Brinda, I understand your wanting to go home. And if you were to dissolve the klarn and leave us, I would not blame you. But I hope you will stay with me. I need your love and strength if I am to mend myself. My vote is that we sail with Amlina.”
She resumed her seat, holding back tears.
Lonn stood and peered around at their faces. “I do not think we need further debate. I am reminded of what Belach the shaman said to us, the last time we landed on Ilga. In his vision, we were as terns, blown before the storm, far from Iruk seas. It would seem the storm is not yet ended.”
“He told us to hold to the klarn,” Draven said.
“Yes.” Lonn extended his hand, palm down. The mates all stood and placed their hands in a pile on his.
“We will sail with the witch Amlina and help her kill her enemy,” Lonn pronounced. “And we will do all in our power to help Glyssa be whole again. This is the decision of the klarn.”
* O *
That afternoon, after practicing with her mates with sword and spear, Glyssa went alone to Amlina's chamber. She knocked on the door and presently heard the witch's voice, sounding as if from a distant cave.
“Who is there?”
“Glyssa. Is it all right if I speak with you?”
In a few moments the door opened. Amlina’s face was pale, her manner distant. “Come in, Glyssa.”
Inside the round chamber, candles burned in red lamps on the floor, and the witch's mirrored balls and feathered things hung suspended on threads attached to the distant ceiling. The air smelled of incense and felt charged with invisible power.
“If I am disturbing you, I can come back later.”
“No.” Amlina smiled kindly. “I am working on the designs I must cast. But setting things in motion is … toilsome. A respite is welcome. It might help my concentration.”
She led Glyssa to the long table where the talking book lay shut and Kizier, in his ivory pail, stood with his eye closed, humming in trance as windbringers were wont to do.
“Would you like to speak with Kizier as well? I can wake him.”
“No, I do not think so.” Glyssa sat on the edge of a bench.
Amlina settled herself into the carved arm chair and stared at her placidly.
“I wanted to tell you,” Glyssa said, “that the klarn met this morning. We have decided to accompany you on your voyage.”
Amlina smiled, bowing her head. “I am most grateful. I would not have wanted to undertake this journey without you and your mates.”
“I am grateful to you,” Glyssa replied, “for offering to help me. I have felt so alone these past months. I know how silly that must sound, with my klarn all around me.”
“No,” Amlina said. “It doesn’t.”
Surprisingly, Glyssa felt the urge to confess to the witch, to reveal the weakness she dared not show to her mates. “I keep thinking I am getting better. But then something happens—like last night—and I fall into it again: fear and despair that I cannot conquer.”
“I know, Glyssa. I will help you as best I can. But you must understand, the most I can do is teach you the arts of the Deepmind and guide you in helping yourself. The real work, the hard work, will be yours.”
“I know that, because you have said it. Yet I have no idea what the work will be.”
The witch’s sea blue eyes stared at her in the dim light. “I thought of you this morning and I consulted with Buroof again, to learn more about the legend of Moorlina. She likened the condition that you suffer to a fishhook left in the heart. A deepshaper who enthralls a person captures them, she said, like a fisher with a hook and line. She could cut the line, as I and your mates did when we freed you from Kosimo. But she could not remove the hook without tearing the heart and killing.”
“I see wisdom in that,” Glyssa said. “When the sorcerer’s mind first entered me, it felt like claws seizing my heart and belly. But if the hook is this cold emptiness I feel, and it cannot be removed, what is the remedy?”
“According to Moorlina’s teaching, over time you can dissolve it, absorb it into yourself.”
Glyssa sucked in her breath. “That frightens me. It is foul and evil.”
“It is power,” Amlina said. “Magical power that you can make your own, and then transform into whatever manifestations you wish. That is the art of the deepshaper.”
Glyssa pressed her lips. “I see … But I fear that it will change me, that I will no longer be myself.”
“Oh, it will change you, indeed. But if you walk this path with patience and faith, you will become more yourself, not less. Your soul will grow and flourish. You will become a larger being.”
Glyssa did not fully understand the witch's words. Yet despite the fear they roused in her, she could see no other way. “It is what I must do,” she murmured.
“It is strange,” Amlina said. “How at times the forces of the Deepmind create echoes in our world. This work I have undertaken, that I have been guided to: it requires that I invoke a vast and terrible power, take it into my soul and transform it, even as you must do.”
In that moment, Glyssa perceived what Amlina faced, and sensed the witch's doubt and fear—almost as if Amlina were part of the klarn. Compelled by the same devotion she would show to a klarnmate, Glyssa stood and laid a hand on the witch’s slim wrist.
“Perhaps we can strengthen each other.”
* O *
A short time after Glyssa left Amlina's apartment, Kizier opened his eye. Alerted by the absence of the windbringer's hum, Amlina looked up from the parchment she studied.
“I have good news,” she said. “The Iruks are sailing with me.”
“I am glad, for your sake.” The bostull's voice was even more subdued t
han usual.
Amlina had assumed the windbringer would also join the voyage, but now suddenly she was unsure. “And you, Kizier?” she asked.
“I do not know, Amlina. I must admit, the prospect frightens me. Not because I fear failure, or what Beryl might do to us. But because I fear what the blood magic might do to you. I fear how you might be changed.”
Amlina's throat constricted. “I am aware of the danger. I honestly did not believe I could make this choice. But Meghild's willingness, eagerness to go along has led me to see things in a different light.”
“So?”
“Yes. Consider: for more than a century, Beryl has kept Far Nyssan enslaved, the people terrorized, their children taken as hostages and sacrifices. Surely, to rid the world of such evil is a rightful goal. Perhaps then, this is a duty laid upon me by the Ogo.”
“Well, I suppose that could be true.”
Or perhaps, Amlina thought, it was once again pridefulness, her exaggerated belief in her own importance. No, she must cast those doubts aside. A deepshaper who did not believe wholeheartedly in her intent failed before she ever began.
“I was thinking, Kizier, that if we succeed in killing Beryl, it would mean the designs she forged by sorcery would likely all break apart. That would mean that you would change back to human form.”
The bostull's one eye blinked. “Yes, I suppose so … Oddly, the idea is not entirely pleasing.”
“No?”
“Indeed. I have found a certain serenity in the life of a windbringer, a passive attunement to the Ogo that is most comforting. Of course, I've also maintained human contacts. I have intellectual stimulation, my friendship with you, even with the Iruks. I've had the advantage, as it were, of living in both worlds.”
Amlina showed a wan smile. “If you decide not to sail with us, you will lose your place in one of those worlds.”
“True,” Kizier remarked pensively. “I will become just another windbringer in the stern of some Gwales ship.”
Amlina let him ponder that. She sorted through the parchments spread across the table, and found the map Meghild had given her.
“I wanted to ask you to look over the queen’s map, and help me determine if we’ve estimated the time for the journeys correctly.”
With the map set in front of Kizier, she pointed out the proposed route to Valgool and reviewed the number of days Meghild had predicted it would take. Then she traced the next phase of the journey, back through the Bay of Mistrel, south along the coast of Near Nyssan, around the Cape of Moloc, and finally on to Tallyba.
Kizier pointed out how the sea route would take them many hundreds of miles around the continent. By land, the distance from Valgool to Tallyba was actually much shorter. Of course, the overland route was through the Khylum Destrae, known as the Missing Mountains, which had grown up in the Time of the Worlds Madness. No one knew what lay in that region, no deepseer had ever succeeded in piercing the mysterious veils that hung over the mountains, and the few explorers who ventured there had never returned.
“I almost considered the overland route,” Amlina said, “thinking the Mirror might protect us from whatever beings or forces dwell in the Khylum Destrae. But even if it did, the chances of finding a route in time are doubtful.” By the timetable Amlina had worked out with the queen, the eidolon would live for 60 days. That meant the Mirror Against All Mishap would exist for exactly 60 days after its creation.
“No, the question certainly is: will 60 days be time enough to reach Tallyba by the sea route?”
“Indeed … Very difficult to estimate,” Kizier commented. “And impossible to say with certainty. There will fogs in the northern waters, of course. And that time of year, the winds on the ocean may die for days at a time, especially around Moloc. Sixty days should be more than adequate time—but depending on circumstances, it might easily fall short.”
Amlina shrugged. “I will just have to keep envisioning success.”
“There’s another factor,” Kizier said. “All this assumes Beryl will be in Tallyba when you get there. But if she learns about the Mirror, and it’s limited lifespan …”
“She might withdraw from the city until the Mirror expires? No, I don’t think so. For two reasons: First, knowing Beryl as I do, I don’t believe she would allow herself to be driven from her capital by fear of her former apprentice. And secondly, when I was in deep trance, pondering whether to take this course, a strong vision came to me—that, for good or ill, I will confront Beryl one final time, and that confrontation will be in her Bone Tower.”
Kizier sighed. “You are gambling much on the verity of that vision. And also on the fickle winds off Near Nyssan.”
“Quite so,” Amlina answered. “But as it is written in the Canon of the Deepmind, once the path is chosen, the steps must be taken with sureness. That is the way for all deepshapers.”
“For anyone who would lead a worthy life,” Kizier sighed, “even lowly scholars who have been changed into windbringers.”
Amlina looked at him, hope rising. “Does that mean you will travel with us?”
“Yes, Amlina, I will not abandon you.”
She placed a hand on the bottom of the bostull's green stalk. “I am grateful to you, my friend.”
“It is best I see the end of the adventure,” Kizier remarked philosophically. “Otherwise, if Beryl is slain and her designs overthrown, I might find myself on the deck of some Gwales ship, suddenly transformed into a naked scholar standing in a bucket of ice water. Can you imagine a more embarrassing scene?”
Amlina laughed quietly, and thought, Whatever this journey might bring, at least I shall travel with noble companions.
Eight
For the rest of the day, Amlina found that her work went easier. She consulted with Buroof about the formulas for the Mirror ensorcellment, and discussed with Kizier the pitfalls inherent in all blood magic. She wrote with quill and parchment, composing the incantations she would use for the preliminary workings—the forming of the eidolon and the taking of Meghild’s head.
Absorbed in her work, she did not go to dine in the feast hall. But an hour or two after dusk, she received a summons from the queen. Amlina slipped on a quilted robe and fixed her hair with ivory combs. Arms folded in her sleeves, she descended the curving steps outside her chamber, wondering what the summons portended.
She found Meghild at the high table, surrounded by courtiers. Wilhaven the bard was there, and Frenrik, captain of the castle guard. Next to him sat Ishelda the law-speaker, a somber woman with plaited gray-hair. Amlina was surprised to see Leidwith, the queen's elder son also present. With him sat four other warriors, graybeards in plaid capes and felt hats, chieftains of the tribe. At the far end of the table sat Penredd, his face swollen and bruised. He glared at the witch for an instant, then lowered his eyes.
“Amlina, my darling, thank you for joining us.” Meghild set down a silver tankard. “Will you take meat and drink?”
“Just water, my queen.” Amlina sat in the chair Meghild indicated. She nodded at Leidwith. “Welcome home to you, prince.”
“My lady.” Leidwith returned the nod. He was a stout man, with specks of silver in his brown hair and neat beard. He had always treated Amlina politely, but tonight she sensed caution and unease.
“Yes, we were pleased to welcome him home today, from his visiting over the mountains,” Meghild said. “His arrival gives me the opportunity to announce my plans, which is why I wanted you here, Amlina.”
Now the witch understood the cause of the unease. Her glance traveled around the table, noting wary anticipation in everyone present—except for Wilhaven, who already knew the queen's plan, and Penredd, whose mood was sullen and rancorous.
Meghild rose from her chair, arms trembling. “My lovelies, it has long been in my mind that I ought to retire, that the throne of Demardunn deserves a fit and strong warrior, not a withered old woman …”
She raised a hand to silence protests spoken by Leidwith, Frenrik, and
others. “… And it has long been in my heart, that I would wish to sail again, to have one more voyage of adventure. Now, through her witchery, my friend Amlina will make this possible. Within the month, I will sail with Amlina and her party. Wilhaven will accompany us, and if there be enough men to outfit a second cranock, then they may come as well. But be advised, the journey will be long and perilous, deep into the highlands of Nyssan, and I do not expect to return.”
Her words brought looks of shock and confused muttering.
“How is this possible, mother?” Leidwith demanded. “How will Amlina make you fit enough to sail?”
Amlina dreaded having to answer that question—or rather to conceal the true answer. Fortunately, Meghild took it on herself.
“The details of Amlina's magic are unimportant, and anyway beyond our ken. The concern of this council is the succession. I wish the throne to pass to you Leidwith, my elder son and heir. I hope, my lords, you will back my choice and work to ensure a peaceful succession.”
In Gwales, Amlina knew, a monarch was elected by vote of able-bodied warriors. Disputes could easily lead to bloodshed, so a strong consensus was essential for a peaceable transfer of power. Everyone present at the table wielded influence, and Meghild was looking to solidify their support.
Leidwith stood, hands resting on the table. “My queen, I am sensible of the honor you grant me, but I must ask you to reconsider. Surely you know that I, and all of your people, wish you to remain our queen.”
“Thank you for those sentiments, my son. But my decision will not be altered.”
“But surely,” Leidwith persisted, “your leaving should wait until Garm returns, so that the strength of the family is complete.”
