by Alison Baird
“No,” she said softly, when he made as if to speak. “No, Jaim, please.”
He closed his mouth again, and looked long into her eyes. After a moment he gave a smile, and a slight nod of his head. Then he withdrew his gaze, and drove the cart away, and Ailia was alone.
She trudged the rest of the way up the slope—she was still weary from the effort of conjuring the nightly rainstorms, and the steep climb seemed to take forever. Every turn of the path was poignant to her, for this was the way Damion had come when he met Ana for the first time. She walked, perhaps, in his very footsteps. If she remembered correctly what he had told her, the cave entrance was up near the summit.
She saw it at last, a black gap in the mountainside, icicles fringing its entrance. Stooping, she went in, her breath steaming in the chill air. All that was left of Ana’s domicile was some smashed bits of wood and broken crockery. She did find a few things the vandals had not seen fit to take away: an iron cauldron, and a brazier, and an old moth-eaten brown cloak of Ana’s. There was also a soiled little sketchbook with exquisite studies of animals, birds, and plants. She pored over it as she huddled by the brazier. The birds and butterflies looked ready to fly off the page, the rabbits and mice soft and furry, the berries and nuts good enough to eat.
“Oh, Ana!” she whispered longingly. “Where are you? You can’t be dead too—you can’t be.”
At a soft sound she looked up from the book, and gave a start. A gray animal had slipped inside the cave mouth: for an instant she thought it was a wildcat, and then she saw that it was too small. It was not wild at all, but domestic. It made a beeline for the brazier, and curled up with the air of one who owns the place, and began to groom its bedraggled gray fur.
“Greymalkin!” she cried. The cat mewed in reply.
It was Ana’s beloved pet, her “familiar” as she had called it. The old woman had taken the cat with her when she left Arainia, passing through the ethereal portal. Ailia felt as though she had been reunited with a long-lost friend. “Greymalkin,” she said again, holding out her hand. The cat turned to her and sniffed at her fingers, then returned to licking the damp out of its coat. Ailia went to the supplies she had been given and found some dried haddock, which she offered to the cat. Greymalkin accepted it graciously, but not ravenously, as a starving stray would. She looked well fed. Did that mean Ana was still caring for her, and was perhaps not far away? She reached out again to stroke the cat, and Greymalkin began to purr, a low contented rumble. But even her comforting presence could not drive all the pain and worry from the girl’s mind. Ailia felt Ana’s absence as an aching hollowness within her, and Damion’s too. It was here in this cave that he had been born, to the mountain woman Elthina and her lover, a man of the city who desired to reestablish the old order of the Paladin knights. When he had died young with his dream unfulfilled, Elthina had been inconsolable. She had vanished forever from Selenna, the place of their first trysts, leaving her son in Ana’s care. The wise old Nemerei woman had placed him in the monks’ orphanage at the Royal Academy. Was he truly an orphan, as he had believed himself to be, or did his mother yet live? Why had she never come back to seek her son?
She must be dead, Ailia thought. And my mother also. They would not abandon their children so long. It was a dream I had that night in Halmirion, no more. I did not truly see my mother.
But what, then, of the ring that had so mysteriously appeared on her finger—the royal star sapphire ring that should still have been in Mandrake’s palace in Nemorah, where she had cast it off?
She could make no sense of these mysteries, and her thoughts turned to other and more troubling things. Mandrake and the threat he presented loomed large in her mind, like a mountain that dominates a landscape. The mere thought of fighting him still filled her with dread. If only she could remain here, take up the works of Ana in her stead, learn to make plasters, balms, and potions to assuage the hurts and ailments of people and animals. To use her life and powers to heal, and not to harm.
She loosened her hair from the tidy knot in which it had been confined, and removed her outer clothing. Then she rolled herself up in her blanket and lay down, closing her eyes. The darkness seethed before her eyelids, birthing images. She seemed to see the passage of many eons in her mind’s vision—barren landscapes, boiling magma, turbulent seas. Mountains reared up and crumbled again like sand dunes; forests sprang like green mold from a mire, flourished briefly, and sank back again. Stars flickered into being, dimmed, and died like candles. In all this cosmic tumult living creatures were not even visible: they teemed and bred and perished like the smallest of unseen germs. She felt herself as one of these: a tiny mote of matter, her existence confined to a time that was less than the blinking of an immortal’s eye.
Then the scene changed. She saw now as mortals see, from a point of vantage closer to the earth. She beheld ferny jungles like those of Nemorah, and scaled creatures crawling through the murk of an unimaginable antiquity. There were beasts that resembled the Tanathon, long-necked and large-bodied eaters of plants, and other, more fearsome creatures that went on strong, clawed hind legs and fed on flesh. And then, without knowing how she knew it—the intelligence was passed straight to her mind from some unknown Other—she understood that this was not Nemorah but the Original World, from whence the ancestors of the Tanathon came. This meant that among these cold-eyed monstrosities were humanity’s own distant ancestors. As soon as she thought this, a new image came into her mind of a creature with a long low body that crawled through the mire on four legs, like an immense lizard: dun-colored and leathery-skinned, armed with teeth like curved daggers. The blood of this creeping thing was in her. She had seen it: the reptile, the monster that laired in the deepest regions of the self, and she recognized its vestigial presence within her mind. The primal source of anger, aggression, greed, desire—all of it sprang from this: this beast of a bygone age, that fought and killed and devoured its way through its brief and brutal life. Though its kind was long lost, still its pattern was imprinted deep within the living bodies of her race—a heritage from the most ancient of days, and an atavistic influence that warred continually with all higher impulses.
There was no denying it. No human being was free from this original taint: but in sorcerers such as she and Mandrake, its influence was vastly increased by the temptations of an unnatural power. Mandrake was right. We are both of us monsters.
Ailia opened her eyes, and sat up with a sigh. She could not hope to sleep now. For the rest of the night she huddled in her blanket, holding Ana’s purring cat in her arms, and staring out into the darkness beyond the cave’s entrance.
6
The Mistmount
“DO YOU SUPPOSE AILIA WAS never here at all?” Lorelyn asked.
She and Jomar sat at a table in the corner of an inn’s dark and smoky common room. On their tin plates sat heels of bread and some pickled herring, while Jomar drank watery ale out of a dented tankard. In the present situation the inn’s owner could provide no better fare. They had combed the city looking for news until their feet ached, and their spirits were lower than ever before. The common room too had a dismal air, with so few people there: those who had not fled the city feared to leave their homes. A few young and middle-aged men, their hands and faces smudged with ash and their eyes red-rimmed with fatigue, sat nursing tankards at a table by the fireplace. They spoke together in low voices of the damage from the burning. Last night’s attack had not been anything like so deadly as those before it. The people themselves were apparently responsible for this: somehow, the word had spread that everyone should drape their windows, or avoid using any lamps or candles at all, to prevent any light showing after nightfall. Some said that it was the king who had given the command, others that it was the Supreme Patriarch, while still others credited some mysterious unnamed source. At any rate, the tactic had apparently confused the airborne enemy, who on returning to wreak more havoc had discovered only darkness where the betraying lights of t
he city should have shone.
The two visitors discussed the matter among themselves, keeping their voices low. “Could it have been Ana? She would have known what to do. The king certainly wouldn’t know how to prevent an aerial attack by night,” said Jomar.
“Perhaps. Or it might have been Ailia,” suggested Lorelyn. “The rain might have been her doing as well. I hope so, because that would prove she really is here.” She glanced up from her meager meal as Auron and Taleera entered the inn’s doorway in their human guises.
“No luck?” asked Jomar. The dragon-man shook his bald head as he and Taleera sat down on the bench opposite their human companions.
“It’s worse than the needle in the haystack,” said Lorelyn. “Ailia might be in disguise—a glaumerie, perhaps, or even a shape-shift. There are spies of Mandrake’s here who might recognize her, after all. If she didn’t happen to notice us, we would pass each other in the street and never know. At least I wouldn’t, nor Jomar. I suppose you two would see through her illusion.”
“We might,” agreed Auron. “But Taleera and I have not felt any sorcery in this area for more than a day now.”
“We must find her, and soon!” Taleera said. “Our spies say that Mandrake is coming to Mera—may even have arrived. Ailia must leave this sphere, and go to Arainia where she is stronger!”
They all fell silent as the true difficulty of their errand came home to them. Into their silence intruded the voices of the inn’s other patrons, discussing the events of the past few days: the houses and other buildings destroyed or damaged, the people killed or missing, and beneath these things the growing sense that some still worse calamity lay in wait. The comets were discussed, and their possible role as portents; holy scriptures were cited, in particular the prophetic Book of Doom, together with old bits of folklore handed down by the speakers’ rustic ancestors. The fear in the room was as heavy and penetrating as the smoke from the fireplace.
“Can’t you use those magic powers of yours to find her?” Jomar asked Auron presently, in an undertone.
Auron shook his head. “Again, there are too many of the enemy about. Otherwise we might try contacting the Nemerei conspiracy here, and ask if they had seen her.”
“If the conspiracy still exists,” said Taleera. “Without being able to speak through the Ether, we can’t even know if there is anyone here anymore.”
“There were the tunnels where they gathered,” said Lorelyn. “I know where they are: I’ve been down there.”
“But those tunnels are no longer secret, you say. The Nemerei would not meet in them now,” said Auron.
“I know! What about Mount Selenna?” asked Lorelyn. “That’s where Ana used to live.”
She had forgotten to lower her voice, and one of the men by the fireplace overheard. “Selenna? The Mistmount? You’re not thinking of going out there, are you?”
“Why not?” said Jomar.
“Not everyone who goes up there comes down again, the country folk say. It’s an unlucky place. They tell stories of faeries and black witches. Not that I’d have believed such tales once, but nowadays—who can say? Witches and flying ships—the world’s gone mad. They say it’s the end days, and I begin to think they’re right.”
“And there’s a new witch up there on the Mistmount too, I hear,” said another man, looking up from his tankard. “Someone saw her only yesterday. Reckon she’s taken the place of old Ana, since she died.”
“Died?” said Lorelyn in dismay.
“Well, they don’t rightly know what became of her. Ana’s not been seen in ages. She was old as the hills, any road. Were you looking for a healing potion or some such?”
“Well, not exactly, but—this new person, she’s not one of the black witches?” asked Lorelyn.
“Don’t know. She lives all by herself, they say, not in a coven. But I still wouldn’t go near her, not for no potion nor anything else. You’d best stay away from these conjuror types.” He went back to his drinking, while the four companions looked long at one another.
“Could it be Ailia?” Lorelyn whispered, giving voice to their thoughts.
“It might be—but what on earth would she be doing on a mountain all by herself?” Taleera said.
Jomar drained his tankard and stood up. “Well, there’s only one way to find out. Let’s go and see.”
THE MORNING AFTER HER ARRIVAL, Ailia had her second visitor.
As she was boiling the water for her morning tea in Ana’s cauldron, there came a sound of shuffling footsteps outside the cave entrance, and she looked up quickly to see a figure standing there: hunched and misshapen in its ragged clothing, with head lolling to one side and restlessly moving arms. The man moaned as he looked in at her, and she thought for a moment that he had come to her for some healing potion. Then as the moaning continued and rose in volume she found she could understand him, as if the sound were a form of speech. His thoughts came through, like rays of sunlight shining through a fog.
How do you do? she heard. My friends and I heard about you from the village folk. You’ve been spotted, did you know that? The new witch of Selenna! You’re being talked about, here and in the city. He took a staggering step closer to her. You’re one of us, aren’t you—a Nemerei?
“Yes,” admitted Ailia after a moment’s hesitation. “You’re—Ralf, aren’t you? Ana told me about you. You’re a Nemerei too.”
He moaned again. That’s right. It was she brought me into the Conspiracy.
“Won’t you come and sit down?” She indicated a chair, her hopes rising. “I have been trying to find Ana, and the rest of you. Tell me, have you seen her lately?”
He did not move, but stood returning her gaze. Then he began to make mournful, braying sounds. You didn’t hear then? Old Ana died five months ago. Since her return she had grown weaker and weaker. She spoke a few last words to us at the end. She was taking her leave of us, she said, because we could now manage on our own—at least until the Tryna Lia came. She said she would go into the Ether so that her essence would become a part of it. That is how the old archmages chose to die, you know: so their mortal bodies would be one with the Ether rather than the earth. And she went to the old Standing Stones out in the countryside, the two great tall ones that form a gate—to the faerie world, as the local folk say. She stepped between them, and she vanished, and she has never been heard from since.
The daylight seemed to dim. Ailia sat down abruptly in one of the battered chairs and put her face in her hands. “I—didn’t know. I suspected she had died, but I hoped it wasn’t so.” Despair filled her, and sorrow too. She had so wanted Ana’s comfort and advice, the benefit of her ages of wisdom—but now she realized she had also wanted simply to see the old woman again, to hear her gentle voice. “I—loved her very much.”
He came and sat down by her feet, looking up at her. There, now. She was very old, you know, far beyond most mortals’ span of years, and she was really very calm and peaceful at the end. She did not die ill or in pain. She simply felt she had done all she could for the world, and she was ready to go and leave the rest of the task to us. We’re all still here. The Patriarch talked the king into banning followers of the Nemerei ways, and offering rewards to anyone who turned us in, but they never could catch any of us and now that there’s a war on they’ve lost interest. So you see, you’re not alone. And there is still hope. Ana may be gone, but she told us we would have help. The Tryna Lia will come, she said. In fact, she may already be in our midst. She is human, the child of Earth and Heaven, but she has great powers and will protect us all, and lead us to victory.
His facial expression was contorted and unreadable, with eyes rolling in different directions. But she felt the joy in his words, and the mix of awe and wonder. His simple belief filled her with anguish. What to tell him? He was a Nemerei, but like all the village folk he no doubt believed the Tryna Lia was an incarnate goddess, a being whose victory against the present darkness was a certainty. How to tell him that her victory w
as not assured, her mind filled with doubts? Perhaps she should say nothing at all. But no: Ana had prepared the way for her, had promised these people she would come. She could not betray the old woman and all the work she had done here.
“Yes, I know. She spoke the truth.” She stood up again and walked out into the sunlight, feeling its warmth on her face, breathing the fresh air. Then she turned to look back at him. “I am the Tryna Lia, Ralf. I have come to help you.” If I can, she wanted to add, but refrained from doing so. Let him and the others have the hope they desired.
He lurched to his feet, crowing and flailing his arms about. Your Highness! This is wonderful! Ana said you would come to Maurania. And when I heard of you—a mysterious woman, come to live on the mountain in Ana’s old abode—I did wonder if it might be the Tryna Lia, and so did many of the others. That is why I came—why I said these things, hoping that you would confirm them and declare yourself. I must bring these tidings to the Nemerei—they will be overjoyed—
Yes—her admission would at least give them courage and strength to carry on. But was their trust justified? “You may tell them I have come, so long as the enemy doesn’t get to hear of it. Are you all safe, Ralf? Where have you been hiding?”
Many places. We give shelter to one another, and warn our fellow conspirators when danger approaches. We used to use the mind-speech to do this, but now it seems the enemy has Nemerei too. I have been spying about the city, trying to learn what our Zimbouran friends are up to.
“Oh, Ralf, do be careful. They’ve hurt you before, haven’t they?”
Don’t you worry about me. No one wastes time on an idiot like me these days. They’ve got bigger fish to fry. There was no bitterness in his statement, only amusement. And I daresay it’s of no concern to you, great as your powers must be, but you might like to know that some people were asking after you at an inn down in the city—the new witch of the mountains! I don’t know who these people were, but you might want to leave Selenna for a while, just to be safe. The other Nemerei sent me here to find you—it’s taken us a while to hear of you, now that we daren’t talk mind to mind all the time. If you like, we can take you into hiding with us.
