Song of the Shiver Barrens

by Glenda Larke

  Arrant flushed at the fraternal disgust and said hurriedly, ‘We can prove it.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Tarran and me.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Ask Tarran—through me—something about your life in the Mirage. Something that only a Mirage Maker would know, that I couldn’t possibly have learned from anyone else. Tarran is part of the Mirage Makers and has their memory.’

  Temellin was silent for a moment and then said, ‘When I was about eight I had a secret hiding place—’

  He used to hide his hop-square tors under a loose stone on his windowsill, because Korden wanted to pinch them.

  ‘You hid your hop-square tors under a loose stone on your windowsill.’

  This time Temellin’s shock had a physical dimension. Arrant felt the blow of it, striking somewhere under his heart. ‘You hid them from Korden,’ he added.

  Temellin, white-faced, bent his head. When he spoke again, his voice was husky with emotion. ‘Once before I made a terrible mistake…I didn’t believe your mother when she spoke the truth, and we all suffered for it. We could have lost the Mirage to the Tyranians as a consequence and she almost died.’ He turned an anguished face to Arrant. ‘Now it seems I have repeated that mistake with you. I’m sorry. Of course it’s the truth, and I don’t know why I couldn’t see it.’

  Arrant felt a rush of affection.

  ‘Forgive me. Is he all right? Tell me about him. Is he with you now?’

  Tell him Tarran has a matchless intelligence, a peerless wit, an exemplary character, a modesty supreme—

  For once, Arrant couldn’t muster up a brotherly insult. Aloud he said, ‘Yes, he is. Tarran? He’s, um, well, he’s kind and bright and funny. And so very brave. You—you would like him. A lot. But he’s not like us. He’s a Mirage Maker first, and—and my brother second.’

  For once Tarran didn’t have anything to say.

  ‘Father, there are things we have to tell you. He’s going to die. He can’t save the Mirage. He’s not strong enough and the Mirage Makers don’t know how to save themselves. They have no answers and know of no way we can help them.’

  ‘Is he—is he listening? Can he hear us?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘What can I say? My son!’ His feelings ranged free, as if he no longer had the strength to contain them, but there was far too much there to read. When he did manage to speak, it was with a depth of open emotion that Arrant had neither heard nor sensed from him before.

  ‘Have him…Tarran…could you tell all the Mirage Makers that we will do anything—anything at all to help them, even if it means we lose what we are, the Magor, in the process. We have that because of them. We have been special, and blessed, because of them. Kardiastan is free because of the powers they gave us. Now we would gladly die if it would save them. Save you, Tarran.’

  Arrant relayed Tarran’s reply. ‘He says to tell you that the Mirage Makers don’t know of anything that will make any difference.’

  The pain on Temellin’s face was stark. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We aren’t going to give up. Not just like that. How can we? This is just where the fight begins!’ He stood up, as if to emphasise his point. ‘Tarran, we need the Mirage Makers’ permission to break the Covenant. We have to return to the Mirage.’

  Ligea’s letter-scroll was the first thing Arrant saw when he entered his room on his return to Madrinya. He unbuckled his Magor sword and his belt pouch and laid them down on his pallet before opening the scroll case.

  She would not have received his letter about Temellin, of course, but he was astonished to find most of the contents concerned his necklet. He sat down on his bed, frowning. He read the last part twice: Berg Firegravel seemed to think your necklet might become dangerous, possibly because it is returning to the region near where it was made—and its makers were perhaps as much animal as human. Don’t wear it, Arrant. Just in case.

  He turned to his belt pouch and emptied it out. The necklet was there, along with his coins, his whetstone and his flint firemaker. He ran a finger over the beads. The runes were cold under his fingers, but he carried scars at his neck where they had burned him. Unlike the scars caused by the Shiver Barrens sands, healed by Samia, these had not vanished. They were rough and raised to his touch. He had removed the necklet to give them time to heal.

  He ran the string of beads through his fingers. Dangerous? Perhaps. But he and Temellin were still alive because of them. Deliberately, with steady hands, he reclasped them around his neck. There was power of some sort there, and he needed all the help he could get. He would ask Tarran what he knew, next time he came. In the meantime, he was prepared to take the risk.

  He had an idea it would be better not to tell his mother that.

  ‘Temellin.’ Korden stood for a moment in the doorway, emotions spilling out.

  Temellin raised the bottom edge of the black bandage over his eyes and saw the blur of a shape against the light behind. If he hadn’t been able to feel Korden’s presence, the amorphous shadow could have been anyone. Or anything. ‘How I hate this,’ he thought with sudden savagery. And then, despairing, ‘This is the rest of my life. Get used to it.’ Aloud he said, and his voice rang with good humour, all of it false, ‘Korden. Come on in.’

  Korden’s dismay was palpable as he came across the room to where the Mirager sat at the window, a glass of wine in his hand. ‘Damn this, Temellin. I came as soon as I heard. I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say.’

  Temellin considered Korden’s emotions. ‘It’s more than dismay,’ he thought. ‘He’s horrified. And his grief is genuine. Why then does he always make me feel so uncertain of his loyalty?’ The answer was there, the same one as always: because Korden was jealous and always had been, for as long as Temellin could remember. Korden had wanted to be Mirager and, being the eldest of the Ten who had escaped the Massacre of the Shimmer Festival, he thought he had a better right to the Mirager’s sword than Temellin. He had the most memories of the world they had lost, of the Magoroth who had died, of the richness of the life they had once lived. And now Temellin was blind and, as much as Korden might grieve over that, it gave him another reason to believe he would make a better Mirager.

  Temellin smiled and waved at the chair next to him. ‘I’ll survive. It’s not so bad. Have a seat. Would you like some wine?’

  ‘Thanks, I will. You shouldn’t drink alone. No, don’t get up; I’ll help myself. When can you take the bandage off? What do the healers say?’

  ‘The bandage comes off tomorrow, but the damage is permanent. I am totally blind in the left eye.’

  ‘And the right one?’ Korden asked as he poured himself a drink and sat down.

  Temellin hedged to avoid a lie, keeping his voice even, his tone upbeat—and his emotions carefully concealed. ‘I have some vision, enough to get by. I won’t be doing much swordplay though.’

  ‘I’ll talk to the healers.’

  ‘They’ll tell you exactly the same thing.’ They’d better, after the trouble he had taken to conceal the extent of his blindness. It was marvellous, he reflected, how much you could deceive without telling a single lie, as long as people assumed you had no motive for deception.

  ‘I just want to make sure that everything is being done that can be done,’ Korden said.

  ‘Oh, skies above, as if the healers aren’t falling all over themselves to do their best for me. And the truth is, I had one of the best immediately after it happened. Samia Garis.’ He winced as Korden tapped his fingernail against his cabochon, apparently without noticing the irritating sound it generated.

  ‘Sweet waters, she can’t be more than ten years old, and an Illusa at that.’

  ‘Eleven, I believe. And there’s plenty of evidence to suggest that Illusos make the best healers. She did a good job. I was lucky she was there or I could be worse off.’

  ‘It is a shame that it occurred at all. Temellin, I heard you entered the Barrens deliberately, to save Arrant. And you had to do that becaus
e his sword did not have power. We almost lost our Mirager because of your son’s Magor incompetence.’

  Temellin gritted his teeth. It was too much to ask, of course, that the whole story wouldn’t have spread through Madrinya as fast as a sandstorm before the wind. Too many people had seen what happened. He said, evenly, ‘It seems the Mirage Makers vanished abruptly after giving Arrant his sword. The sands then returned to their active state. He didn’t have much chance.’

  ‘If he’d been able to control his sword, then he would have known which way to go. I heard he headed off in the wrong direction. Temel, he is a danger to himself, and possibly to others.’

  ‘How so? It was the first time he held a Magor sword in his hand. Give the lad a chance.’

  ‘Temellin, he has problems. If you cannot see that, then consider the pressures you are exerting on him. Arrant has power but no control over it. Yet he is being pressed to perform to the level of his peers, or better, in order to match his position as Mirager-heir. Are you being fair to him? Are you perhaps being both a poor father as well as an irresponsible Mirager?’

  Temellin stilled. ‘The bastard,’ he thought. ‘He knows how to hit me at my most vulnerable spot.’ Aloud he said, his tone as cold as he could make it, ‘Let me be the judge of that.’

  ‘I would, if it concerned only your son. But it does not. It is a matter of Magor concern. Of Kardi concern.’

  ‘You promised me two and a half years, Korden, until Arrant is sixteen. He’s been here under a month, and you’re already making up your mind?’

  ‘I did not know he was going to place his father’s life in jeopardy. I did not know you were going to end up purblind. Sweet hells, Temel—it is his incompetence that has left you this way. And now you need a competent heir to aid you.’

  ‘I will hold you to our agreement.’ His expression bland, he pondered inwardly, ‘And that is an interesting choice of word, my friend: purblind. Do you mean dim-sighted or dim-witted?’

  Korden did not notice his abstraction. ‘Confound it, I didn’t come here to argue with you!’ He sipped his wine, then continued in a lower tone, ‘I just wanted to say how deeply I regret what has happened. And ask if there is any way I can assist you. Temellin, you’ve laboured so hard these past few years. Perhaps you might consider resting a little.’

  Temellin gave a faint smile. ‘I am not sure I would know how. What do you suggest I do, Korden? Doze in the sun by the seaside? A little fishnet weaving to occupy my time, perhaps? My friend, there is work to be done.’ Briefly he related all that the Mirage Makers had told Arrant of their present situation.

  Korden was horrified. ‘Mirageless soul! You cannot be serious.’

  ‘Am I likely to joke about such a thing? Anyway, there has been confirmation. When we came back from the Barrens, there was a report waiting from a vale up near where the Alps meet the rakes. They found a Ravage beast, apparently deposited by a wind. Fortunately, it died, but not before it had almost lured a young boy to his death. I’m calling a Council meeting about all this. We have to consider a return to the Mirage, to fight for them. No, to fight for ourselves. For our own future.’

  ‘We can’t do that. What about the Covenant? Anyway, all those years we lived there, we never managed to get rid of a single patch of the slime.’

  ‘We never really tried,’ Temellin pointed out. ‘At first we were too young and too few, and then we concentrated on the Tyranians. We have an added advantage now: Arrant has a direct line of communication with his brother. He can speak to him, even while he is here in Madrinya and his brother is in the Mirage.’

  Korden stared at him with a shocked expression. ‘That’s impossible.’

  ‘Apparently not. It seems Arrant is not as useless as you assumed after all. And I have already received permission from the Mirage Makers to move our warriors back to the Mirage.’

  ‘I—I see. I’ll organise a small group of volunteers to cross the Shiver Barrens and take a look—’

  ‘That’s a good idea. Do it. Get started on it today. I shall want them reporting back as soon as possible to a full meeting of the Magoroth Council, in twenty days’ time. In fact, I want a Magor meeting as well, immediately following. Send the word out to every corner of Kardiastan. I’d like a representative from every Magor family. Oh, and do bear in mind, Korden, that the last time I looked, I was still the Mirager. I rule this land and I make the decisions. My eyesight is poor now, but there is nothing wrong with my brains. I am quite capable of organising another war, albeit a different kind of one.’

  ‘Damn it, Temellin. No one is suggesting you are not the Mirager. But you are injured and half blind. Let others take on this burden. Why don’t you go down to Ordensa again? Rest. Arrange to meet Ligea Gayed there. I’m sure she would jump at the chance.’

  Temellin rose abruptly to his feet, spilling his wine. ‘You already have my answer. I think I said it plainly enough? There is a war to be fought. Now will you excuse me?’

  Aware he had overstepped the mark, Korden put down his drink and muttered an apology. He started for the door, but before he reached it, he turned back. ‘Temel—’

  ‘I know, I know. You have my best interests at heart. You always have. And believe me, I have never been less than grateful. You have always been the older brother I never had.’ His thoughts were a less charitable, ‘Yet I grow to dislike you more with each passing day.’

  ‘I—yes. Skies, I’m so, so sorry.’

  Temellin remained standing until he was sure Korden had gone. Then he groped around, cursing, to find and clean up the wine he had spilt, using his neckerchief. Sands, but this was so damnably frustrating.

  He lowered himself back into his chair. Was it true; was he being unfair to Arrant? Or was he merely preparing him for what was his birthright? It was just as easy to argue that, if he accepted Arrant’s disability as incurable, then he was denying him his place as Mirager, or even his future as one of the Magor.

  ‘And admit it,’ he thought, ‘you cannot bear the idea that one of Korden’s children might step into your shoes. Korden himself wouldn’t be so bad because he at least cares for Kardiastan. But Firgan? He cares for nothing but Firgan.’

  So, was he prepared to push Arrant into something he might be incapable of doing, simply to keep Firgan from sitting in the Mirager’s seat one day?

  And the answer was clear: yes, he was. Arrant would be a fine man one day, worth a hundred Firgans. In peaceful times, his lack of control over his Magor power wouldn’t really matter—but Temellin couldn’t fool himself about that, either. No Magoroth Council would ever accept a Mirager who couldn’t call up Magor power into his sword at will, because how would such a Mirager ever bestow cabochons?

  And that led him to another, more immediate problem. Would the Magoroth Council accept a blind Mirager when there was another war to be fought? As he stared sightlessly out the window, he didn’t think it would come to that. He was popular; much more so than either Korden or Firgan. He had proved himself a wise ruler, or he thought he had. His strategies had won Kardiastan its freedom from Tyranian rule.

  Besides, it would be a terrible thing to ask a ruling Mirager to step down. He would either have to die, or leave the country and go far enough away for the Mirage Makers to consider he was dead, as had happened to Sarana as a child. If the Magor did ask him to abdicate his position, maybe he could threaten them with the idea of Sarana being the next Mirager. He grinned inwardly. No, no one was going to ask it of him.

  But still, he didn’t want the Council to know just how damaged his eyesight was. He pondered for a while and then called for Hellesia. She came immediately, as he knew she would. Ever since he had arrived back, she had hovered within call, even sleeping on a pallet in the room off his bedroom, although he had assured her it wasn’t necessary.

  ‘Yes, Magori?’

  ‘Is there a bird sitting on the branch out there?’

  She looked through the unshuttered window. ‘Yes, one of those pesky mellow
birds. They have been wreaking havoc on the figs, confound them. Oh! You can see it?’

  ‘No, no. But I am aware it is there. Which gives me an idea. You told me earlier that Jahan and Jessah were waiting to see me?’

  ‘Along with half the Magoroth Council, the townmaster of Madrinya and half his city councillors, your son, the head of the—’

  ‘All right, all right. I get the picture. Go and fetch Jahan and Jessah now. And Arrant too. Tell the rest to come back this afternoon.’ Her disappointment was obvious; she had thought for a moment that his eyesight had improved, only to have him dash that hope. He wanted to weep.

  When she returned with the three of them, he asked her to stay. As Jahan and Jessah said all the things one could possibly say to someone who had so suddenly lost their sight, he tried to remember their faces, the way they smiled, Jessah’s mannerism of tilting her head to one side as she listened, the habit Jahan had of rubbing his thumb against the side of his nose before he spoke. Temellin had to remember, because he’d never see them again. They were brother and sister as well as husband and wife, a tall honey-skinned couple, alike not just in looks but in personality. Quietly thoughtful rather than brilliant; stubborn and dogged rather than brave. Temellin valued them most for their good counsel and their steadfast loyalty. Jessah’s worst character flaw was that she nagged; Jahan’s that he lacked initiative. Apart from Garis, they were his closest friends and, of all the Magoroth Council, they were the two he trusted above all others.

  ‘I’ll never see them grow old,’ he thought, ‘none of them. Not even Arrant. I’ll never know what he looks like as a man. How strange!’

  How sad.

  ‘Jahan, Jessah, I owe you both an apology for keeping you waiting,’ he began, burying his distress too deep for them to find. ‘In truth, I didn’t know what to say, because the truth is about as bad as it can get. Let me start with the personal. I am blind. I am, however, trying to give the impression to everyone, by implication, that I have considerable vision remaining in my right eye. It’s not true. I can see the difference between light and shade. And I can make out movement, at least of people and anything larger, but that’s about it.’