by Roger Taylor
‘They were big dogs. I wouldn’t like to argue with either of them,’ Vredech interposed.
‘Size doesn’t really come into it,’ Dacu said. ‘They’re strange creatures, felci. Full of life, energy, mischief – lots of mischief – but very dangerous if they have to fight.’
‘And they actually talk?’ It was Nertha.
‘Oh yes. As I said, they’re strange creatures. They say their ancestry goes back to the time before the very beginning of things.’
‘Before the beginning?’ Vredech exclaimed.
Dacu gave a disclaiming shrug. ‘You’re the theologian, you tell me. That’s what they claim. I’m sure Dar-volci will be only too happy to discuss it with you – at great length.’
Vredech gave him a suspicious look. ‘I’ll confess to having passed the time with the occasional dog from time to time in the past, but I find it difficult to see me discussing theology – or anything, for that matter – with a talking rat.’
Both Tirke and Dacu laughed. ‘Well, if you’ll accept a word of advice, I wouldn’t call Dar-volci a rat to his snout,’ Dacu said. ‘He can be quite cutting. And I’d reserve your judgement on his intellect if I were you.’
Vredech’s suspicious look deepened. He looked to Endryk for aid. ‘Are you joining with your countrymen in this?’ he asked.
Endryk tried not to laugh at Vredech’s discomfort, but failed. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he replied. ‘I’ve never had the privilege of a conversation with a felci, but I’ve seen one or two and I’m afraid Dacu’s telling you the truth. And from what I’ve heard, they regard us as a rather inferior and troublesome species they have to keep an eye on.’
Vredech looked to his wife. ‘I’m beginning to suspect there’s something in the humour of these people that doesn’t travel.’ He returned to Dacu. ‘I suppose you’ll tell me next that this Dar-volci is a sort of king felci.’
Dacu chuckled. ‘No. They’d regard that as being very peculiarly human – extremely eccentric, not to say downright dangerous.’ Then his manner was abruptly almost sombre. ‘But he is exceptional.’ He glanced at Endryk to draw him into the conversation. ‘It was Dar-volci who killed Sumeral’s most powerful Uhriel, Oklar. The man – the creature – who cut a swathe through Vakloss with a gesture. Killed him just like that.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Whatever the felci are, wherever . . . or whenever . . . they come from, they’re not to be underestimated, and the Power seems to hold no terror for them.’
The expression on Endryk’s face told Vredech more vividly than any reassurances that he was not being made the butt of even a gentle joke.
‘I see there’s a great deal I have to learn about your country and its people,’ he said.
‘There’s a great deal we all have to learn about each other,’ Dacu retorted. ‘And many other things as well. I find it hard to come to accept these “other worlds” that you say you’ve been mysteriously transported to, and that Thyrn says he’s seen.’ His sombre mood fell away. ‘But I’m looking forward to finding out about everything.’
The road ran directly north and they followed it for the rest of the day, at Dacu’s urging and under his guidance, travelling faster than they had done hitherto. They camped eventually in a small stand of trees on a low hillock. As the sun sank and the sky darkened, there was a persistent glow above the western horizon. It puzzled them for a while until they realized that it must be from the lights of Arash-Felloren.
‘What a strange sight,’ Dacu mused. ‘It’s as though the place were ablaze. You can see Vakloss from far away at night, but only if it’s in direct sight. Not beyond the mountains. Why would these people choose to light the sky as well as their streets and byways? Do they envy the stars? Or would they seek to emulate them?’
Vredech laughed. ‘I can’t say that the direction of the street lighting was ever a concern in Canol Madreth,’ he said. ‘I’ve certainly never thought about it and I presume it’s the same with these people. Thoughtlessness at the worst. Not the greatest of sins in this case, surely?’
‘It just makes me uncomfortable, that’s all,’ Dacu said. ‘Thoughtlessness it may well be but I’m not sure I can forgive it as readily as you. Of an individual, yes, but not of an entire city. It’s a symptom of the place. Almost every aspect of it we’ve touched on has been tainted with it. Not least towards other people. And if they disregard their own kind so casually, what regard will they have for anything else around them?’
Vredech gave him an arch look. ‘You are stern, aren’t you? I’d never have taken you for a zealot. “Thou shalt not shine a light at night.” Are you sure you haven’t studied religion at some time?’
The taunt made Dacu smile but he issued a challenge. ‘Just fault my reasoning, priest. The more we learn about the place the more it feels as though Sumeral’s touch is all over it. I wonder if it was once one of His citadels?’ The question was half to Tirke, half to himself, but neither pursued it. ‘Anyway, I’m glad we found out about it, but we were probably wise not to go into it.’
‘Some other time, though,’ Thyrn reminded him.
‘Some other time, certainly. When Nertha has taught us all how to haggle properly.’
The next day, maintaining the same faster pace, they continued along the road, which still led steadily northward. They had met little traffic the previous day and such as there had been had lessened with each junction they came to. Now they met no one travelling in either direction and gradually the road itself began to disappear as the surrounding countryside encroached on it. Eventually it was gone, and all suggestion of the influence of Arash-Felloren passed from the landscape. Their mood lightened.
‘Do you think your friend has come this way?’ Vredech asked.
‘Oh yes,’ Dacu replied.
‘You sound very confident.’
‘If he was going home, this is the most direct way. There’s no reason why he should wander off the road. And he’s left signs for us to follow.’
‘Signs? I’ve seen nothing. And he didn’t know we’d be following, did he?’
‘No, I’m sorry. I meant because he wasn’t deliberately hiding from us, he’s left a trail for us to follow if you know what to look for. So far it’s been easy – scuffs in the dirt, an occasional hoofprint in damp ground.’
‘And not forgetting Dar-volci’s paw prints,’ Tirke added.
Vredech looked at them both, wide-eyed. ‘You make me feel blind and useless. I’d be interested to look for these “signs” myself if you’d care to help me.’
‘And me,’ Thyrn said. ‘Endryk taught me how to leave no sign when we were being chased through the mountains. He said we’d left a trail across Arvenstaat like a runaway haycart.’
Soon, moving still northwards and with all of them now searching enthusiastically for the faint reminders of Atelon’s passing, they were leaving the grasslands and ascending into mountains again. Unlike others they had passed through though, these were of no great severity and the way proved to be quite easy. At one point as they moved along a valley floor, Dacu, who had been looking back and forth for some time, reined to a halt.
‘This has been a proper road at one time. And no farm track, either. I’ll wager you could see the line of it from up on the ridge,’ he said. ‘Fascinating.’ He spoke to Tirke and Endryk. ‘We really must study this region in detail. We can start as soon as we get back to Anderras Darion; there are all manner of maps and plans in the library there.’
Thyrn’s eyes narrowed at the word ‘study’. ‘How far ahead do you think your friend is?’ he asked quickly.
‘Not far, I would imagine,’ Dacu replied. ‘We’ve been making good progress and I doubt he was hurrying particularly. We might reach him today.’
And they did. Towards evening, riding towards the head of the valley, they saw the light of a distant camp-fire.
‘Let’s see how alert our warrior-Cadwanwr is.’ Dacu and Tirke enjoyed a private joke. As they drew nearer, a tent similar to those used by the two Gorai
din came into view, but there was no sign of any occupants.
‘Ho, the camp,’ Dacu shouted.
‘Ho yourself, Goraidin,’ came a voice from close nearby. Both Dacu and Tirke laughed and then applauded as a figure emerged from the shade of some rocks. It held a lantern that shone in their faces.
There followed a brief confusion of greetings and abuse typical of long-separated friends meeting unexpectedly and in happy circumstances, then Atelon was more soberly introduced to the others.
‘So you’re a Cadwanwr?’ Thyrn said as he found himself looking into a weather-beaten face and deep-set eyes. ‘They said you wore a big hat.’
Atelon’s face cracked into a bright smile. ‘Only when I don’t want to fight,’ he said. Then, still smiling, he looked at his inquisitor intently. Briefly a look of pain came into his eyes and his hand flicked as if it were about to reach up and offer consolation. He turned the movement into a gesture towards his camp-fire.
‘Welcome to my hearth. I was just about to . . .’
‘Aren’t we forgetting something?’ Except for Atelon and the two Goraidin, everyone looked round for the owner of this peculiarly deep voice. Nertha gave a faint ‘Oh!’ and Thyrn jumped as the sinuous form of Dar-volci emerged from the shadows. ‘After all, it was me who told you they were coming.’
‘I’d heard them,’ Atelon replied defensively.
‘Hm.’
Without any warning, the felci jumped up into Atelon’s arms and thence on to his shoulder. ‘Let’s have a look at our visitors,’ he said paternally. ‘I have your names, but some of you smell very interesting.’ Following this injunction, Atelon took him to each of the new arrivals in turn. Dar-volci stared intently at each one separately, his triangular head jutting forward a little and his muzzle twitching. Throughout he maintained a soft, absent-minded whistling.
‘Very interesting indeed,’ he concluded finally. ‘I think we’re going to have a lot to talk about. Introduce them to Pinnatte, then let’s eat.’
Pinnatte, slight in build and with disorderly fair hair and disconcertingly black eyes, was the ‘halfwit’ that Ghreel had referred to. Except that he was not a halfwit.
‘The Kyrosdyn used him in an experiment,’ Atelon told them as they sat around the fire eating.
Nertha frowned but did not speak. In travelling with the Goraidin she had soon learned that when they explained something, it was clearly and thoroughly done, and when others explained, they listened. She deemed the last in particular to be a great virtue. In her experience it was rare.
Atelon continued. ‘They “infected” him, for want of a better word, with a compound they’d formulated. Something involving crystal products, I imagine.’ He paused and looked directly at Dacu. ‘This is wickedness, the like of which I find hard to speak of calmly. I take some bitter pride in the fact that I was able to play a part in the destruction of its architect.’
‘Imorren?’ Dacu queried, untypically interrupting. ‘Their leader?’
Atelon showed no great surprise that Dacu knew of this. He nodded.
‘The whole story’s a long one,’ he said. ‘And far from clear in my mind yet. Suffice it to say I’m expecting a long Accounting when I get back to the Cadwanen.’
‘I understand. But tell us what you can.’
Atelon thought for a moment. Perhaps telling a new audience about what had happened might give him an insight that had been denied him in his own inner speculations. But where to start?
Andawyr’s words came to him. ‘When you don’t know where to start, start.’
So he did. ‘Briefly, as I said, they used him as part of an experiment. Exactly what they had in mind I couldn’t say, but what they finished up doing was trying to make him into something that couldn’t be.’
‘What do you mean, something that couldn’t be?’ Thyrn interrupted, provoking a reproachful glance from Endryk.
Atelon looked at him and his voice became that of someone obliged to deliver a difficult lecture. ‘Tell me, young man, what do you know about the Power?’
Chapter 17
‘I’ve heard of it,’ Thyrn replied, indicating his companions as the source of his information. ‘It’s something that’s supposed to pervade everything. These mountains, this food, us. And some people – such as yourself – Cadwanwr – can use it deliberately, to move things, change them.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘I know Dacu and Tirke wouldn’t lie to me, and I know from my own experience there are some strange things in the world, but, to be honest, the whole idea seems very far-fetched.’
‘Your scepticism does you credit,’ Atelon said, smiling now. ‘Keep it sharp and strong, it’s your sword and shield. Always question. You’re not alone in struggling with the idea of the Power. There’s a great deal we Cadwanwr don’t understand about it and we’ve been studying it since Ethriss founded our Order. We know much more than we used to – in fact, over the years since Sumeral’s Second Coming, our knowledge has increased enormously – almost as though we’d suddenly been released – awakened. But it seems the nearer we get to its true nature, the more elusive it becomes.’ He became thoughtful. ‘Perhaps we can never fully discover what it is because we’re a part of it.’ Then he smiled to himself. ‘Anyway, accept it for the moment, Thyrn, just as you’d accept any fireside tale. There’ll be plenty of time for doubt later.’ He looked round to draw in the rest of his audience. ‘This isn’t an easy idea to grasp, but, in the course of our studies, one of many conjectures was that there could be other worlds existing at the same time and in the same place as this one we see around us.’ A gesture took in the darkening mountains and he paused as if expecting a reaction from his listeners. None came, however. They were watching him expectantly. Dacu correctly interpreted his momentary confusion.
‘Strange as it may seem, we’re all of us familiar with the idea, Atelon,’ he said. ‘Thyrn and Vredech particularly so. They’ve tales of their own to tell. But finish yours first.’
Atelon’s surprise was quite open. ‘Well, I must admit that’s not the response I expected. You intrigue me.’ He looked at Thyrn and Vredech keenly for a moment before recollecting himself. ‘Still, as I said, this was conjecture. There was some logic to it, but much of it was speculative. Recently, however, we’ve come increasingly to the conclusion that the existence of these other worlds is not only a real possibility but a strong probability. Further, given particular conditions – admittedly, as yet far from fully known – we think that certain individuals should have the ability to pass between them.’ He turned his empty plate over. ‘What is not possible any more than that this plate could have only one side – and this we do know – is that anyone who has the ability to use the Power could also have the ability to make such a journey. It’s intrinsic in the nature of things. Which brings us to the Kyrosdyn. They’re supposed to be crystal workers – simple craftsmen. Their true interest, however, lies in the Power.’
‘Like you,’ Thyrn said as Atelon paused. Endryk nudged him.
‘Yes,’ Atelon admitted. ‘But we study the Power out of both intellectual curiosity as one of the great mysteries of our existence and also to understand something that has the potential to do terrible harm if abused. They study it so that they can use it to acquire control over others. And the way they study it can only be described as diseased, obscene. It’s contrary to everything we’ve ever believed in or done.’ His lean face became taut as he struggled to control an obvious anger. Then he spoke directly to Dacu. ‘Arash-Felloren was once His place beyond any doubt, and the Kyrosdyn are His servants, whether they know it or not.’ He hesitated and his voice fell. ‘From what I could discover about Imorren herself, and from my own feelings, having met her, I think she may well have gained her knowledge from His hand directly – at Derras Ustramel.’
Both Dacu and Tirke frowned at this but did not speak.
Thyrn fidgeted but followed their example and remained silent. Atelon took Pinnatte’s hand protectively.
‘The reason
they infected him.’ His mouth curled in disgust. ‘They called it Anointing – was to change him so that he’d serve as a vehicle for Sumeral’s return.’
The final words almost tumbled out. Tirke stood up abruptly and turned away from the fire. ‘Thyrn felt Endryk start violently. Dacu did not move, but his eyes became grim.
‘I was there at the end,’ Atelon said, answering their unspoken questions. ‘I felt Him gathering and preparing to come forth again.’ He shivered and fell silent.
‘But, obviously, it didn’t happen,’ Tirke said, still facing into the darkness, his voice shaking and full of doubt. ‘You prevailed.’
Atelon nodded uncertainly. ‘We survived,’ he replied. ‘Pinnatte, Dar-volci and myself. Imorren died. Though I don’t know whether it’s right to say we prevailed. Maybe the whole thing was doomed from the outset, maybe not. I think if I were superstitious, I’d be inclined to say some higher force intervened, but setting that aside, it was chance – very fortunate chance – that brought us through it. A chance accident to Pinnatte that marred their experiment and left him with enough humanity to be reached when the time came.’
‘What happened?’
Pinnatte lifted his right hand to encase Atelon’s, still holding his left. It was extensively bandaged.
‘Shortly after he’d been infected – here, on the back of his hand – he grazed it badly – bravely too, but I’ll tell you about that later. A simple cleaning ointment was applied to it and that was it. The Kyrosdyn’s experiment was suddenly changed into something beyond any controlling. Like a small stone tumbling down a mountainside and causing a rock fall instead of just coming to rest. I don’t know what was meant to happen but in the end Pinnatte became someone who just shouldn’t be . . . someone who could both use the Power and move between the worlds.’ Atelon closed his eyes. ‘It was a nightmare. The terrible instability of it all. I’ve never been so frightened in all my life. Not even when I stood with the army facing the Uhriel.’ He began breathing deeply as a trembling in his voice threatened to take control of him. Dacu leaned forward and took his arm supportively.
