The Tears of Sisme

by Peter Hutchinson

  Those kindly old eyes, filled with penetrating wisdom, surveyed them all. "The future I did not see in my days of vision and maybe it is better so. Reason says there is little hope in this impossible task that history has chosen for you; the forces ranged against us all, and especially against you, are too great. And yet with the Talisman to guide you, who knows? All things become possible.

  It is also fortunate that you do not feel the full extent of our hopes and fears. You will have to act, at times act swiftly, and carrying the accumulated expectations of many thousands of years would be an extra burden you do not need. For what it is worth, the goodwill of Kramenti goes with you and word of you will be sent to the Summoners. I will give you no gift or talisman to take with you. The greatest of all talismans is awaiting you in Karkor. Remember the manner of Behenna's defeat and you will not go amiss."

  The gentle gaze moved over each of them, lingering a while on Caldar. "Like your master, there are things about you which disturb me, my young friends, depths which I cannot plumb. Fadeen says you all have your roles to play in this mission. I am glad of it. The Guardian when he is revealed will have need of such companions. I will just say to you, beware. Those who have great possibilities also stand in great danger, not least from themselves."

  He had said no more to them, and they had not seen him the next day when they had left the monastery. Vizzik and a couple of younger monks accompanied them up to the western cliffs and worked the hoist. In no time the travellers and their ponies were at the rim, taking their last look over the enchanted valley before turning to face the icy slopes ahead of them.

  The climb to the first pass had been brutally hard. The snow was the deepest they had encountered and they floundered on in Idressin's wake until they were nearly spent. Even the ponies seemed to be worn out by the hours of struggle and visibly trembled whenever they stopped. They just made the top by dark and even the bitter cold could not prevent them sinking into an exhausted sleep.

  They were awake and shivering long before dawn and were dismayed to find that lofty mountains still enclosed them on all sides when they had crossed the pass. Four more days of racking exertion and four more miserable nights had been required to see them through the first barrier of high peaks. After that each succeeding ridge and pass had been lower, and now ten days out from Kramenti, they were among rocky summits with heavily forested flanks. It had been snowing for two days, heavy wet stuff down at this level, which melted almost as fast as it fell.

  Rasscu's head poked into the end of the boys' shelter. Seeing Caldar awake, he grinned and held out two steaming mugs of amalra tea. "Come on, lads. You're like a pair of hibernating squirrels in there. It's time to be off and everyone else is ready."

  "Well the ponies didn't look too happy about the morning either, when I peeked out at them earlier on, " Caldar grumbled, sitting up to accept his mug and getting a cold drip down the back of his neck as his head nudged the boughs hastily stacked up to form the roof of their lean-to. "Squirrels and ponies are noted for their commendable good sense and judgement. They recognise that sleep and rest are the really important things in life."

  Rasscu laughed. "You may be right about squirrels, but the ponies are eager to get started. They know we're nearly out of the mountains and they can't wait to reach some decent grass."

  "How do they know?" Caldar queried.

  "And how do you know that they know?" Berin put in, peering at Rasscu through his tousled locks with one bright enquiring eye. Seeing the Tesserit hesitate uncharacteristically, he went on, "Do they tell you?"

  "No. It's nothing like that. I just know what they're thinking and feeling,"

  "What? All the time?"

  "No, not really. Just . . . whenever I want to, I suppose. I've never thought about it, it’s always been like that. They're very intelligent, you know." He gave Berin a quick glance. "This is just another trick, so I'll keep talking and you can stay in bed, isn't it?" He backed out of the shelter saying, "The cooking pots are going to be packed up in five minutes. If you want any breakfast, be quick."

  They were quick, and half an hour later the little band were under way, threading their way through yet another pass. The clouds hung wet and low all morning, blanketing everything above them and it was mid-afternoon before they began to break up. By then it was clear that they were emerging from the mountains. They had been descending steadily for hours. The snow had long since turned to rain, and as the clouds cleared they could see that they were riding down onto a huge treeless plain which rolled away majestically bare and flat to the horizon.

  "The Gorobi," Idressin announced, "where they raise the swiftest horses in the world."

  Empire, Karkor

  Unfailingly deferential to her mistrustful old grandfather and at the same time quietly assuming the burden of his duties whenever allowed to do so: humbly acknowledging her ignorance and always ready to listen to the elder statesmen at court before she made important decisions: demure, intelligent, beautiful: the perfect princess, the perfect granddaughter. Deceit layered upon deceit.

  Chachi smiled inwardly to himself. The great gongs of the Ajeddak temple filled the gloom with the deep buzzing hum of a million bees and sweet incense pooled thick among the shadows. He sat cross-legged beside a small iron-bound door in the west wall of the domed chamber, alone - no one else wanted to be near the Penitents Gate which led directly down to the Black Stone. The Gate of Judgement, through which most of the Stone’s victims were led in, was below ground, connected to the dungeons. Criminals and political prisoners went in that way and many of them never came out. The Stone was a unique artefact and without a person to bond to, it required food of a different kind. A lot more of it lately, Chachi noted.

  To the monks the Prentex was preparing himself for his daily ordeal of descending into the Stone's presence. The few who wondered what he did down there by himself kept their curiosity to themselves: their greatest fear was that he might show them. Most assumed he was conducting some kind of worship and if it averted the Stone's anger, that was enough for them.

  There would be time for him to prepare when he was down below. For the moment Chachi set his mind to review yet again what news of the princess he had to convey to the Watchmen.

  He applauded her performance. She was so complex, so subtle that he doubted that any besides himself had yet read her intentions. No, not subtle, cunning was closer. Cunning like an animal in ways which were difficult even for his own devious mind to grasp, even though he had had several opportunities to observe her.

  Her anger at Theyn for ordering the death of the Guard captain in For Dendak had been spectacular. She had radiated such concentrated force across the room that the colonel had wilted visibly and her voice brought him near to collapse.

  When Theyn had recovered, he had had the courage to defend himself. It was no use being soft, he said: in her own words, they were playing for high stakes and an example like this would keep everyone on their toes.

  Shkosta had held his eye for a moment without replying. Then she called in the senior guard on the door.

  "That very tall young guard outside, sergeant."

  "Yes, your Highness. Private Zitsa."

  "Been with the Brigade long?"

  "Came with the new draft this month, your Highness." Apparently encouraged by her look of enquiry, he continued, "One battalion rotates from Razimir every six months, your Highness."

  "Take him out and execute him, then come back and tell me why. The right answer will save your own life."

  The sergeant hesitated for the briefest of moments, as if to make sure he had heard correctly, then bowed and withdrew with a white face.

  "You see the difference, Melim?" He nodded. Her voice drove at him again. "Do you? I doubt it. That was a calculated act. It's the Malefor Brigade on Palace duty this week and they could do with a reminder of their Oath of Loyalty. That guard's wearing a yellow cockade, one of the Brigade’s colours, but forbidden since yellow was adopted by the
FMP and the Malefor rebels. A stupid error or a rash statement of the man’s personal beliefs? It makes no difference. Wearing yellow in the Imperial Enclave is an act of treason. His death will serve as a necessary shock to all the others: beyond that he's of no particular use or interest to me.

  The Captain you saw fit to have executed in For Dendak was a witness, almost the only reliable one we had who'd seen Fordosk close up and the people with him. A witness who could swear that Fordosk was carrying forged documents with your name on, the very thing we’d need if he ever comes to trial. Worse than that your victim was a coming officer in the Imperial Guard with high-ranking connections. A distant relative of Dettekar's. You didn't know? You never stopped long enough to find out, you witless oaf, you just jumped right in and had him killed in anger at your own failure.

  Now we have to rely on an outlaw and a Trinta mule-packer for identification, we’ve got the Imperial Guard with a score to settle with Special Forces, we’ve Dettekar wondering how the hell you got the execution order through to For Dendak so fast, and we’ve got the whole Defence Council waking up to the fact of how powerful Colonel Theyn and his Special Forces have become long before we’re ready. Not a bad score for one stupid mistake."

  She had held to her theme for some minutes, giving the priest even more time than usual to observe her. So far probing had brought him very little: she guarded her thoughts well. And he was reluctant to tamper with her dreams; she had proved very sensitive indeed to outside interference, and the thought of what she would do if she suspected him of attempting such a thing frightened him more than he cared to admit.

  And yet it was time that he did admit it. And time the Watchmen recognised that they had made a mistake. With the war and the physical conquest of the Empire looming large in their plans, it had seemed a worthwhile trade-off to give this woman indirect access to the Stone in return for the extra information it brought Chachi’s way, to say nothing of the inside seat he had in some of the more startling intrigues being concocted around the throne. But she was too lethal, too violent to use as an ally in such a delicate operation. At their great distance the Watchmen thought every risk, every person could be controlled, and it was difficult to explain to them the complications of dealing with someone who always eluded the subtlest classification. It was too late now to regret having brought the prophecies to the princess’s attention; with the climax rushing upon him, he would have to handle her as best he could.

  He had just had confirmation from the Watchmen that the Talisman was due to appear in Karkor at the Spring Equinox. This vital information would allow him to discount the false Talismans which were reported from time to time around the Empire. They would simply serve as camouflage with the princess, reinforcing her natural tendency to treat all Talisman stories alike as religious twaddle.

  As predicted, he himself was exactly where he should be, the right place at the right time. No need to move, the Talisman was coming to him. That was the good news. The bad news was that he still needed the Guardian and he had no idea where to look for him.

  Without the Guardian he would never find the Talisman, let alone be able to make use of it. He needed the Guardian alive and even that would not guarantee success, because neither Chachi nor the Watchmen had a clear idea of the way the process worked, how the Talisman manifested itself and how the Guardian was able to find it. They had only the slimmest of precedents to go on, a single occasion recorded a long time ago.

  As yet he had no evidence of the true Guardian's identity or even of his existence. Assuming that he did appear and lay claim to the Talisman, Chachi's task was then to claim them both. The thing most likely to thwart him was Shkosta's ruthless pursuit of her own ambitions: if the Guardian, real or fake, represented the least hint of political threat or embarrassment, she would dispose of him without hesitation, as she had already done with a couple of misguided candidates.

  The best course for him now, Chachi realised, was misdirection. If he could help to keep the princess concentrated on purely political threats, such as the antics of the Free Malefor Party or the more adventurous members of the Six Families, then she might overlook the arrival of yet another harmless religious madman. But however he played it, it would not be easy: Shkosta overlooked very little.

  It was unfortunate that the debacle in Tarkus had already called her attention to this Fordosk and his party. Shellimill had picked up their interest in the Talisman through the girl in Suntoren and used her to put a tracer on them. Some interesting hints about her companions had emerged from her dreams, but the girl had shown a remarkable and growing resistance to control. So Chachi had tried to keep track of the group by putting out a reward for information in Tarkus, hoping to have them questioned before they passed right out of Shellimill's range. He had not even known Fordosk's name.

  What a fiasco! The reward had roused the interest of Special Forces, who had identified Fordosk as a member of the Six Families, set up a trap for him and missed. The man’s presence had been duly reported to Karkor where it had sparked a sharp reaction from the princess. If by some remote chance it turned out that the true Guardian was in this party, Chachi would be hard put to it now to take control of him before Shkosta intervened: Fordosk had become a very hot political potato.

  Chapter 19

  One day Dawn-in-the-West said to her companions, “ I feel sorry for the Forest-people. They never see the vastness and wonder of the great plains, they never taste the cool waters of the mountain streams nor feel the sweet wind of speed flowing in their hair.I will take one of them and show him these things so he can tell the others.”

  “And how will you do that?” asked Risen-from-the-Sea.

  “I will take him on my back.”

  “That’s crazy, even for you,” her companions said. “ You will never make the brutes understand.” And they all laughed at the impossible idea.

  Only the Weathermaster was silent.

  Undeterred Dawn-in-the-West approached the Forest-people. At first they were afraid and ran away. They even threw sticks and stones at her. She was sad that she could not speak with them and explain her wonderful idea. Slowly they became used to her, until one day she tempted one of their young ones to swing down from a branch onto her broad back. He was on her back, but he could not stay there! Walking was alright, but as soon as she began to trot, he fell off.

  Her companions ridiculed Dawn-in-the-West. “Going for a walk today?” they would call. Or “No hump today? Come run with us then.” And they would gallop around her, tossing their manes. But she persisted until one day the Forest-child did not fall off. She could trot now while he clung on tight. Soon she could run and she began to show him speed and the child made a loud noise, on and on, until she realised that he was singing with pleasure. A few days later she took him and his song out onto the great plains, a long way, so far that the Forest-child fell silent. She took him back to the forest at sunset and still he made no sound as he ran off into the trees.

  Next day there were several of the Forest-people waiting. The child was there, but a different one stepped forward. This one was full grown, larger and heavier for Dawn-in-the- West to carry, but she taught him patiently how to ride on her back until one day she took him also out onto the plains. This one did not sing, nor when she returned to the forest did he run away. Instead he beckoned her towards a tree, then put some kind of grass thing around her neck. Nothing else happened, so she turned to leave and found that the grass around her neck was caught around the tree also. She pulled hard, and when it came free, she trotted off to her companions.

  “Did he do it on purpose?” Risen-from-the-Sea asked when she heard about the grass thing.

  “Of course he did,” said Southwind. “You are a fool, Dawn-in-the-West. He is trying to trap you. Next time he will have stronger grass to hold you and you will not be able to get away.”

  Dawn-in-the-West said nothing. She knew what Southwind said was true, but she wanted to go back again.

  �
��Why?” She looked round in surprise. It was the Weathermaster who had spoken. “You have helped the Forest-people, shown them new things, and yet they try to trap you. Why do you want to go back?”

  “Because I am sorry for them.”

  “Sorry that they have not felt the wind or seen the plains? You have shown them these things.”

  “No, I pity them because they carry a shadow.”

  “We all have shadows when the sun shines on us,” Risen-from-the-Sea said, bewildered by her friend’s words. “But we don’t have to carry them, they’re just there.”

  “The Forest-people have shadows inside, shadows which are heavy and which cause pain,” Dawn-in-the-West announced to their astonishment. “When I run with them, they are full of pleasure and the shadows shrink. The Forest-people are a burden on my back, but I feel that their burden is greater. I am sorry for them.”

  For a long time no one said anything, until at last the Weathermaster spoke. “This is a big thing. I will go to the Spirit Hill for guidance. Let us meet there in three days as the sun rises.”

  On the third day they all went to the Spirit Hill and found the Weathermaster there alone. His forehead had turned completely white, his head hung low, and he trembled with weariness. They looked at him dismayed.

  At last Risen-from-the-Sea asked, “You have seen?”

  The Weathermaster rolled his head in confirmation, but did not speak.

  So Risen-from-The-Sea asked further,“ Is it so terrible then, what Dawn-in-the-West is doing?”

  And the Weathermaster’s voice was no more than a whisper as he replied, “More terrible than your wildest fears.”