Tyler's Dream

by Matthew Butler

  “There are many questions that we would like to ask you, Haranio,” said Irrian. “Can you explain the motive of this other Haranio that we have been travelling with? How much do you know of Avalon’s Blessing? Is it—”

  Quickly Haranio put down his mug and pressed a finger to his lips. He slowly pointed to the door, the walls, and then to his ear.

  Tyler frowned. Had they had been followed? He had not noticed, but the location of Haranio’s house was probably public knowledge.

  “Let me tell you a little of the history of this place,” said Haranio, effectively changing the topic of conversation, “for it’s important that you understand. Do you know of the Last Battle? Where the nÿmph, Lamathil of the Sunbirch, shot an arrow over an entire league into the centre of Her heart?”

  Tyler nodded. “Varkon’s told me about that, but he knew only of the ghatuan history after the battle, and he understood little of what happened to the Alliance.”

  Haranio took another sip of his steaming tea. So much steam gushed around his head whenever he brought the cup close that small beads of perspiration gathered across his moustache. “I’ll fill you in more of it, then. But please, drink up, or you tea will turn cold!”

  Tyler decided the odd liquid couldn’t possibly be poisoned because Haranio had poured his tea from the same jug. He put the piping hot cup to his lips and took a sip. It was surprisingly good.

  “Ha! You like it?” Haranio laughed. “First time you’ve ever had tea that tasted as good as that, I’ll bet.” Tyler gave a nod. “And it won’t be the last, I promise you that! I do love a good cup of tea.” Haranio took another sip. “Now where was I? Oh yes, after the Last Battle, Rokinn, high dwarf of the Council, burnt Her body in a great public celebration.” Haranio sighed so deeply that even his soul must have felt a chill of despair. “But dreams of better times remained dreams, because corruption rotted at the good intentions of the Council. Many people – Lamathil of the Sunbirch included – became consumed with greed and sought to the plunder and ruin of the Alliance. And so it was that over the decades, the Alliance began to rot at its heart.” Haranio slurped once more at his tea before adding as a side,. “I always found it strange Lamathil became so infected by corruption. Nÿmph’s are usually beyond such greed.”

  “Excuse me, Haranio,” interrupted Tyler modestly. “But could you tell us a little about these different races? I admit I am ignorant of them.”

  Haranio smiled. “Indeed, Tyler. Hargill neglected to teach you anything of the outside world, didn’t he? Well, he had his reasons, which I will explain later. Now, I’m sure you noticed the dwarves in the Council hall? Short people with the oversized beards? Arrogant little weasels always after a better price, the dwarves. Can’t fault their trustworthiness, though – the whole ‘word is my bond’ show. And you will find that their impenetrable optimism, especially when it comes to wealthy artefacts, is often infectious. As for the gronts, you could hardly have missed noticing!”

  “The giants?” guessed Tyler.

  “I suppose you could call them that, but they might take offence. Better to get used to calling them gronts – it is what they are. Big and clumsy creatures, their race is almost extinct. As for the nÿmphs, they are spirits of trees that have grown powerful enough to take a physical shape. There is only one representative that now remains with us at the Council hall, to keep an eye on proceedings. Although they arguably have contributed most to the construction of Ithrim, these days they play but a small part in its politics. They are disillusioned with the Council’s inefficiency. Only one other race makes up the Alliance.”

  “The huun,” blurted Ellior from the floor, unable to help himself.

  Irrian eyed him coldly; the man had been under strict orders not to interrupt.

  “Yes, the huun,” said Haranio, apparently not noticing any of the drama. “Creatures as noble as the nÿmphs, and less common than even the gronts. I would venture that the huun are perhaps wiser than any of the rest.”

  “I didn’t see them in the Council hall,” said Tyler.

  “Only a handful of huun remain in Ithrim at any one time. They have almost the same shape as us humans, but they are taller, and some would say more beautiful. Their skin is a rich black, and it has a golden feel to it, as if lit from within by a soft glow. They are particularly interested in the power from the Other – or magic, as you say – and indeed I learnt much from them when I visited their home in the Hinilu Isles all those years ago. At any rate, I hope my ramblings served to enlighten you. There are other races in the world, but they are either deemed not sufficiently intelligent, or they refused to join the Alliance when the others combined their efforts to build Ithrim. That is why there are six chairs clothed in purple in the Council hall: five to seat the leaders of the humans, dwarves, gronts, nÿmphs, and huun, and one left empty in remembrance of other races, that their rights must also be tolerated although they are not represented. The high seat of red is a recent addition. It is now the seat of the Protector of Ithrim, whom you had the misfortune of meeting today, and it was built because the rulers of the Alliance do not continuously reside here as they used to in days of old. In their stead, a representative is elected as Protector to look after the city. Unfortunately as the races lose ever more interest in Ithrim, this ‘Protector’ is becoming ever more like a king. I fear that it may have been a mistake to infuriate Tritus so greatly today …” Haranio stared listlessly down into his now-empty cup. “No matter. What is done cannot be undone.”

  Tyler gave one fervent slurp at his own tea to finish it.

  “Now, quietly,” Haranio quipped with a sudden conspiratorial tone. “Let us go somewhere where we can be assured of some real privacy.”

  That “somewhere” turned out to be The Albatross’s Wing. Haranio opened a hatch that led onto the roof, and then the five of them carefully crept across several blocks, weaving between the crumbling chimney stacks until they reached a ladder to the ground. The Albatross’s Wing was being watched over by one guard, down from the original ten. This fellow was sound asleep on a stool that had been set out for him, and he didn’t so much as bat an eyelid as they stole quietly past.

  Once aboard, Irrian decided the dining room would be the best place to talk. It was comparable to The Eye of the World’s in size, was similarly cosy, and was cluttered with paintings. Like every room in the ship, it was ill-equipped with windows, but it was quite dark outside by now, and so this hardly mattered.

  Irrian dismissed Singrid and Ellior, telling them to find Varkon. It was then that they encountered their first bit of trouble: on spotting Haranio, the ghatu bounded the massive table in one terrifying leap. He would surely have torn Haranio’s head from the rest of his body if it weren’t for Tyler and Irrian’s panicked efforts to restrain him. Only once the day’s strange events had been fully explained did the ghatu begin to relax. Still, he refused to sit and instead stood broodingly to one side, arms folded and brow leaden.

  “Now,” began Haranio with complete serenity, as though being attacked by a four-hundred-pound monster was as trivial an event as any he had seen thus far today. “It is nearly time to speak plainly.” Tyler’s skin prickled in anticipation, and a set of invisible fingers seemed to be drumming their long nails against his skin impatiently. He had been waiting for this day for a long time. “But first, I want to prove to you beyond all doubt that I can be trusted. Your anger towards me is quite justified, Varkon, given the circumstances.” Haranio nodded towards the lumbering ghatu. “However, I want to completely ease your minds. You have to trust me – and I you.”

  Tyler, Irrian, and Varkon waited to see where Haranio was going with this. Tyler nervously chewed on his thumbnail.

  Haranio smiled. “Did you ever think that this shamif you’ve been travelling with could change into other shapes besides that of an animal?” Tyler stopped biting at his nail and stared. “A shamif can take the shape of anythi
ng – anything, be it a chair, stone, tree … or human. Did you not find it suspicious, if I am correct in interpreting your tale, that this other Haranio would always ensure he had some time to himself during the night, and even withdraw completely when he could? Why do you think that would be?” Haranio raised an eyebrow with expectation.

  “Of course!” Tyler slapped the table with the obviousness of it all. “A shamif cannot maintain a foreign shape for a long period of time! That was why the old Haranio completely transformed into a snow lion, because he did not stay in touch with his real self. But that means …”

  “This impostor was mimicking my shape,” finished Haranio darkly. “Thus, each and every day he had to make sure he found the time, the privacy, to change back to his original form. If he had not, he would have lost his true mind to my persona. I think you said, Tyler, that by the end of the journey, the shamif kept mostly to his cabin?”

  Tyler nodded excitedly, although he felt rather shaken to be informed of such a conspiracy of identity, to be informed of the true character of a person he had trusted almost entirely.

  “Obviously he was growing ever more uncomfortable maintaining my shape,” Haranio continued, “so larger amounts of his time had to be spent in recovery. I think if the cabin door on The Eye of the World had been forced open, you would have seen a very different person occupying his room.”

  “But who was this person, and what did he want?” asked Irrian. “He had the chance to kill both Tyler and Varkon many times. Why wait until the last moment to do so?”

  “I haven’t the faintest clue, Irrian,” replied Haranio. “Who this man was, what he wanted, and why, I can only guess at.”

  Irrian shook his head in amazement. “And yet didn’t you say that it takes years to master a particular shape? Whoever it was must have known you extremely well, must have studied you carefully on many occasions.”

  “All very true, Ravenfeeder …” For a moment Haranio mused quietly to himself. “The impostor must have spent a great deal of time with me. A shamif must observe the shape they are mimicking in all its detail, know it as well as he knows his own body. But as I said before, I was under the impression that I had never met a shamif. Obviously I am mistaken.” The old magi sighed and sank further into his uncomfortable chair. “From your story, I would imagine that this impostor was undecided about what he should do for most of the time. He did not expect to come to your village when the Dhimori was attacking it, and he certainly did not expect that Avalon’s Blessing had already been given to you, Tyler. These unexpected events confused his original purpose, which was most probably to confront Hargill in my form and attempt to steal the Heart. When his original purpose was no longer possible, perhaps he decided to play the charade of a fake Haranio and travel with you until he reached a decision.”

  “So what made him suddenly decide to kill me on the ship?” wondered Tyler.

  “Who can say if the constant pressure of maintaining my shape drove him to madness, or if there was some other, more subtle reason? Whatever the case, he must have known it was imperative to act before you arrived in Ithrim, where you would find me, and his little game would be up.”

  “I had the lowest opinion of that mukwa,” growled Varkon for the first time from his corner. “From the moment I met him to the moment I ended his miserable life. Your theory makes sense, except one detail. Why he did he change into your shape in the first place? He could have convinced Tyler and myself just as easily in his own form that he was Haranio and was an old friend of Hargill.”

  “Was he sure he could?” asked Haranio. “For all he knew, Hargill had spoken about me at length. Thus, he had to assume my exact physical representation.”

  “Then why did he never claim to be a magi?” put in Irrian. “If he was concerned that Tyler might possibly know all about you, surely he should have pretended that as well?”

  “Perhaps he discovered that Tyler knew nothing about me, and he decided not to. Why pretend when there is no need? What is of more concern is that he seemed to know so much about me. That my life could be so infiltrated …” Haranio shook his head. “It is far harder to become a human than any other shape, because human expressions are so complex. You are sure this impostor looked exactly as you see me now, before you?”

  Tyler exchanged glances with Irrian and Varkon before he replied. “Every twitch and scowl, every twinkle of an eye …” He trailed off in sudden realisation. “Wait! The Haranio that we knew – his eyes were brown. I remember his eyes remained the same colour whatever shape he became. I always found it extremely off-putting.”

  “Now that’s interesting,” said Haranio with an admiring nod. “Are you certain, Tyler?”

  “Yes. The only time the shamif’s eyes were different, yellow, was when he lost his identity to his snow lion shape.”

  “And by that stage he was essentially a wild lion and had entirely transformed, body and mind,” mused Haranio. “Hmm, well thanks to Tyler, I think we can take it that a shamif is unable to change his eyes. That will be a useful way to spot him when he next appears.”

  “When he next appears?” exclaimed Irrian. “You speak as though you think he is still alive, but Varkon threw him out into the ocean. It was many leagues to any piece of land.”

  Tyler looked up and nodded in agreement, only to be met with Haranio’s frown.

  “I would guess – in fact I am almost certain – that we shall see this shamif again. You say you threw him into the sea. So? What happens if he could take the shape of a fish, or a bird?” Tyler bowed his head in worried admission, and Haranio continued. “We don’t know his motives or what he is capable of. He succeeded in fooling you all of his identity for several months – no easy feat indeed. So yes, unfortunately I believe we shall see him again, but next time he will be resolute and vengeful.”

  There was a pause after Haranio’s warning. Tyler gazed at one of the dancing candle flames, lost in thought. Perhaps even now, on this moonless night, the shamif was flicking his fins through the sea or flapping through the clouds to Ithrim. He could already be here …

  “Well, I would say that’s settled, wouldn’t you?” prompted Haranio. The room remained silent. “Moving onto other matters. I think that tonight I’m not the only person who must explain themselves.” Tyler glanced up with surprise. “I had to make sure with my own eyes,” continued Haranio, who had fixed his intense gaze on Varkon. “For I have given the Lingiun pebble to a ghatu before, but he was not nearly as bright or articulate as you, Varkon. Also, from what I hear you are quite the formidable warrior compared to your ghatu brethren? I think you should explain to the rest who you really are.”

  Tyler turned to Varkon with wide eyes. The ghatu was such a close friend of his. Now, if he had been lying about something all this time …

  Varkon smiled wryly. “Very well, Haranio. I see that you can read ghatuan. Was it this symbol that gave it away?” He tapped the crescent tattoo on his cheek that Tyler had often noticed. “The mark is only half complete; it means nothing in ghatuan at the present. Only once another symbol is etched across it – a red line – does it complete an ancient rune – it means Sa-Tsu.”

  “I remember the fat Sa-Tsu on Mount Natsa,” said Tyler. “He had a mark just like it. What does this mean? You are a son of a Sa-Tsu?”

  Varkon nodded. “One of eleven. Throughout my life I have competed with my brothers and sisters to be named leader of our tribe. Sometimes we are forced to duel, or we’re sent on quests to prove or worth, whilst all the while we are given the finest education possible. A Sa-Tsu must lead his army; he cannot be a fool. A Sa-Tsu must fight for power; he cannot be untrained.”

  “When you were captured by Innor and his men,” said Tyler as he felt the mystery begin to wash clear in his mind, “were you were on one of these quests to prove yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. Although interesting, I don�
�t see why is this important,” said Tyler. “Why does it matter if Varkon is Sa-Tsu-to-be?”

  “I am afraid it is, Tyler,” said Haranio gravely. “In Varkon’s Ruilk he swore that he would protect you until you reached Ithrim. Tyler, you are here. Varkon has every right to go back to his own kind now. You see, what I’m about to tell you is very secret business. Varkon could listen to what I have to say and then travel to the Grey Lands, where his position would give him access to the ear of the Dhimori, just as his position most likely granted him easy access to the Sa-Tsu at Mount Natsa. His reward for spilling my secrets would most probably earn him his red line. He would become a Sa-Tsu.”

  It was a horrid thought. For some reason Tyler had thought that Varkon would always stay with him. The ghatu had become his protector, the one who had saved his life a dozen times, and – dare he say it – become his friend. It was difficult to remember that Varkon was on the enemy’s side.

  “What Haranio says is true,” rumbled Varkon slowly. “I could listen to what you have to say, and then, released of my Ruilk, I could travel the Grey Lands and tell Her or Her Dhimori. There is no ignoring the fact that the boy offers me an undeniable chance of … promotion. I’ll admit the thought has crossed my mind before. Indeed, how could it not? From the beginning, from the moment I saw how much the Dhimori wanted Tyler, I have considered the ways I could benefit. But events have not played out as I expected.” Varkon looked away from Tyler. “I grew to like the boy. When I betrayed my own kind at Mount Natsa, that was the turning point for me. That day I put my own kind second and Tyler first.” Varkon sucked in a steadying breath. “I would rather stay here and look after the boy. This has become my place in life.”

  Varkon was obviously extremely embarrassed to talk like this, but Tyler was filled with such happiness like he had not felt in a long while.

  “Never before have I heard of such a strange friendship,” said Haranio with amazement. “A human and a ghatu? Why, if you two can get along, maybe there is hope for us all! But remember, Varkon, this is your last chance. You may go freely now, but after I have my say, you will be trapped, forced to stay here forever, whether you like it or not.”