A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) (23 page)

‘I am more than surprised that you don’t.’

She smiled at his sardonic tone. ‘Unfortunately, I am not omniscient. However, there’s nothing I cannot see if I wish it. I’ll locate the boy immediately.’

Grimacing, Ashurek wondered how the lad would fare when she discovered that his arrogance had led to him being captured and hypnotised; and that he had made several attempts – albeit half-hearted ones – to kill them.

#

Several days passed. Estarinel spent most of his time sleeping, walking and eating, concentrating, as Arlenmia had sensibly suggested, on regaining his strength. He also spent some time in her library, studying some ancient and fascinating books. He dined with her every evening, although otherwise he never saw her. In fact he never saw anyone apart from Gulla, who was ever helpful but uncommunicative. No door of the house was kept locked, but there was never a soul in any room. He found this aloneness in the weird city more eerie with each passing day, so that by the evening he was desperate for Arlenmia’s company.

Twice he asked for news of his companions, but there was none. Other than this their conversation was general and friendly, without touching on personal information on either side. It was frustrating that he still knew nothing about her, but while he was actually talking to her this did not seem to matter. Then he enjoyed her company and ceased to wonder whether she really was the evil tyrant of Belhadra.

Sometimes he sensed that she was aware of talking a lot while saying nothing, and that she was desperate to tear aside the pretence and tell him something of great importance. At these times the animation of her eyes and voice in that languid, sculptural form made her the more beautiful. He felt she was waiting and waiting for the right moment to explain herself to him. Perhaps when the moment came he would be able to discover the truth about her at last.

‘Is there a boundary to this city?’ he asked on the fifth evening. ‘I seem to have walked miles, yet not reached the edge.’ He realised he was obliquely asking whether the city was impossible to escape, and from her look of amusement, she knew it.

‘You’ve probably been in circles,’ she smiled. ‘It’s easily done. Of course it has an edge. You are not a prisoner, you know! To prove it, I’ll have two horses readied in the morning and we’ll ride out to the countryside. I suppose you will want to be on your way in a few days,’ she added rather sadly, ‘but I hope you won’t leave me yet.’

At this, questions began to plague him again. How could this exquisite and intelligent woman, who had shown him such kindness and understanding, be the same ‘goddess’ whom the Belhadrians loathed, feared and worshipped? There were three possible answers: that Arlenmia was not She; that her behaviour towards him was a deception; or that the Belhadrians themselves were wrong in blaming Her for their troubles.

He stared down at his plate, wishing desperately that he could broach the subject without the risk of alienating her. Perhaps it was wisest to let the matter be and make an escape as soon as possible. Tomorrow she would show him the way out of the City.

‘Estarinel, you are poor company this evening,’ the Lady said. ‘Is something troubling you?’ The dim candlelight flickered in the viridian depths of her hair like sparks of sunlight on a woodland river. He made himself reply before doubt stopped him.

‘Yes, you are troubling me,’ he said with a half-smile.

‘You would like to know who I am,’ she prompted, her eyes glittering like liquid aquamarines.

‘Whether you are the one the Belhadrians call, “She To Whom We Pay Tribute”,’ he said.

Her beautiful onyx-carved face betrayed no reaction. ‘I only wonder that you’ve taken so long to ask! Yes. Yes I am. You look a little shocked, and draw back from me. I expect you have heard many ill stories of me, is that not so? And you would rather not have known for certain that I am She.’

‘I have not just heard things. I have seen them as well,’ he said, warily challenging her.

‘So you naturally assume I am evil.’ She sighed and a fleeting expression of sadness crossed her face. ‘Estarinel, are you able to believe that not everything is as it seems?’

‘Yes, of course,’ he said, perhaps too willing to hear an explanation that would redeem her.

‘Then, dear Estarinel, if you will only be patient till the morning, you shall be told everything.’ She touched his cheek then sat back, watching him.

‘Yes, I can wait that long,’ he replied.

After dinner, when he made his way to his room, he noticed that he felt curiously light-headed, while his limbs dragged like lead. It was certainly not the effect of one glass of wine; but he thought no more of it as he fell into a heavy sleep plagued by repetitious dreams of silvered glass.

#

Ashurek roamed the shimmering streets of the city without success. He kept coming back to the same place. With a grim smile he silently congratulated Arlenmia on bringing them to such a perfect, inescapable prison. To have created this mirrored trap she must have more power than any demon. Although she worked with the Shana, she showed none of the usual signs of possession. No, she was self-possessed and very powerful. He longed for Silvren’s advice; he had never had more need of it. Or the Egg-Stone’s power.

Repulsed, he tried to put that thought from his mind. Yet under the influence of the strange blue drug she had put into his veins, the image returned again and again. He was mentally exhausted by it, his concentration and willpower drastically diminished. Medrian had been right, there seemed to be no escape from Arlenmia.

And ‘She’ was now biding her time, laughing at him like a rat lost in a maze until he was weak enough to be bent to her will.

‘Why should the Serpent waste its time destroying us,’ Ashurek thought, ‘when it has slaves to do that small work for it? Ah, but it will not be satisfied with our destruction; no, we must be tormented and cajoled into working for it. In that way only can it truly win.’

#

The next morning, Gulla woke Estarinel and told him that Arlenmia would be awaiting him in the courtyard after breakfast.

She was already mounted on her blue-green palfrey when he joined her by the fountain. A groom held the reins of a large, light bay mare as he swung into the saddle. He felt a faint sense of disappointment, for he had half-hoped to see Shaell there. Then Arlenmia led the way along the marble streets between the bizarre, shimmering towers of metal until he eventually caught a glimpse of countryside between them.

It was a relief to feel grass beneath the hooves of his mare at last. They were on a flat plain of turf fringed by distant tree-covered hills. As they rode away from the city, he saw that it was in fact quite small, and looked even more surreal from without than from within. It was like an extraordinary metal sculpture. A strange idea began to take root in his mind, telling him that it was not a city at all, but had a quite different function…

‘Come on!’ called Arlenmia, urging her horse into a canter. He followed and they circled the gold and silver city from the north to the south. Here the hills were closer and only sparsely covered by trees. Arlenmia continued at a gallop to the nearest peak.

‘There!’ she exclaimed, pulling her horse to a ragged, prancing halt, its golden tail streaming like a banner. ‘From here we have a fine view. Let us dismount for a few minutes and rest the horses.’

The bay mare was blowing hard. Estarinel jumped from her back, glad of a rest himself. He was still not fully fit. He looked to the south and saw a gleam of white on the horizon, some twenty miles away.

‘You can see the white hills and waterfalls at the equator,’ said Arlenmia, coming to stand next to him and pointing with a long, alabaster-smooth finger. ‘You see, the nemen did not bring you far. Which way will you go when you recommence your journey?’

‘I don’t know,’ Estarinel began. He was about to explain that he must find his way to the coast and sail to Forluin, but stopped, feeling disturbed by this sudden loss of caution. He was too much at ease, the memory of Forluin was faint… he knew that this was somehow wrong, but at the same time felt that it didn’t really matter.

Arlenmia smiled when he paused, and slipped her arm through his. She was almost as tall as him, and her long jewel-threaded hair spread onto his shoulder like turquoise silk.

‘You think you’re lost, don’t you?’ she said softly. ‘But you’re not. I’ve so much to tell you and show you. Things of far greater beauty than any painting or tapestry…’ Her deep blue-green eyes took on an opalescent lustre as she spoke. ‘You don’t have to leave.’

He turned to reply and then she was kissing him, her arms travelling in a languorous, snake-like movement to encircle his shoulders. Her mouth was cool, taking warmth from his. He was lost, fevered. He embraced her tightly and she pressed herself against him, eventually ending the kiss and sighing against his cheek.

‘Oh, I knew you would not be as blind as…’

‘As who?’

‘Others.’ Her smile was more in her eyes than on her lips. ‘You will trust me and believe me, I know.’

‘Do I have any reason not to?’

‘None.’ She kissed him again. ‘Now, if I was so cruel as to give you a choice of leaving immediately, or coming back to the city with me for good, I wonder what you would say? Ah, but I am not that cruel.’

‘Aren’t you? You must know I would come back with you,’ Estarinel murmured, his arms tightening about her.

‘Yes,’ she whispered into his ear, her voice passionate and persuasive. ‘What happened in Forluin does not matter.’

At this his feelings fell dead. He abruptly disentangled himself from her as if from a serpent, and stared at her aghast. ‘If you knew anything about Forluin, you would not say that!’ he exclaimed.

A look of regret crossed her face. ‘I forgot that I have not yet explained to you.’

‘I think you had better, and straight away.’

‘Yes. We’ll go back,’ Arlenmia said, lightly mounting her palfrey and arranging her long satin skirts. They began to ride down the hillside, the scintillating metal towers of the city ahead of them. He was sure she had not meant to say what she did, because it had instantly shattered the strange spell she had cast over him. He was not prepared to wait for her explanation.

‘I’ve seen a lot of miserable people, stricken by a plague which they blame on you,’ he began. ‘I’ve seen a boy, who claimed to be your messenger, commit murder and terrorise his own parents. He also claimed to have shown us a mirror that put us in your power. Belhadra seems full of people who think they are dying of apathy and fear, because of you. Well, is it true? Are you responsible?’

The Lady Arlenmia listened, colour coming to her jade-smooth cheek. As he finished, she sighed. ‘Estarinel, you look at me as if what happened in Forluin was my fault as well! But different things must be achieved in different ways.

‘The poor Belhadrians make it so hard for me to help them. I came here some years ago; my work had to begin somewhere, so where better than the vital heart – the Glass City? I came to unite them with the joyous knowledge, but oh, how they fight! I never dreamed they’d be so stubborn. So I have to make them see through my mirrors and my messengers; it is unfortunate, but the only way to help them. If only they would listen to me I could save them from the plague, from their own foolishness.’

‘But what do you want of them? To worship you?’

‘Me? No, oh no! I seek eternal life for them – eternal perfection! My work is extending – my messengers work far beyond Belhadra’s borders.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Estarinel said. ‘What are you trying to do?’

‘Oh, it is almost impossible to put into words. I will explain it to you in a more visual way, in a short while. You see, like so many great works, it will be mistakenly opposed – and this is the greatest work of all.’

The wild, deep passion in her voice frightened Estarinel, and he knew she did not speak in madness, but from a true and terrible root of evil.

‘Belhadra suffers, but it is only temporary. Forluin and Gorethria will be the hardest, but help is here at last – at my fingertips!’ Arlenmia tossed her lovely head back in elation, and her horse danced.

‘My companions are here, aren’t they?’ Estarinel said.

‘Yes, of course,’ she answered, smiling. ‘As you now realise, if Mel Skara’s mirror drew you here, it must have drawn them also. You are all here, the three keys: Ashurek, Medrian and yourself.’ They rode from grass onto a marble-paved street.

‘Do you mean it was planned we should come here?’

‘Do you think you can make a single move of your own volition?’ She laughed, and he thought again of the two figures, one light, one dark, both grey. ‘But listen, Estarinel. I don’t know everything. When a mind is firmly closed against me I cannot see into it. I want us to be friends, to help each other. Open your mind to me; I must see all your thoughts and intentions, so that I may make my own aims known to you. It is fascinating to see innocence become knowledge…’

He did not fully understand what she was telling him, but he could feel her charisma begin to enmesh him again. He looked away from her, and tried a specific question.

‘What about Skord? He claims to do your work–’

‘Ah yes, Skord.’ Her face became suddenly livid. ‘He was a sickly wretch when I found him. I healed him, gave him a new home and peace of mind. I had his adoptive parents believe he was really their son… although I think some doubt must have remained on both sides, which would account for the hatred which has developed between them.’ Estarinel could not believe the offhand manner in which she spoke, as if manipulating people’s memories and the resultant hatred were perfectly natural. ‘He was more than happy to work for me in return. Of course, if someone had inadvertently brought back his memory, they would little realise what harm they had done or what torment they had caused him.’