Cloud Castles (43 page)

He looked at something beyond me, beyond the confines of this little space. ‘Where we’ve been, out towards the infinity of the Rim, in realms you can’t guess, Right and Wrong, to give them the nearest names you have, they’re flames that burn, trees that grow, minds that plan, colours, tastes, smells – everything. They exist in themselves; they’re absolutes. But even they don’t know the whys and wherefores of everything. It’s beyond them, beyond the Rim, and what lies there is hidden. Only by getting beyond the margins of the Spiral, beyond the Rim, will we ever find any answers. But they also know that the way beyond isn’t to be found out there; it’s back here, right here, in the Core. And that’s why the Brocken, the Graal, the Invisibles, the Ape – all the powers that have taken wing from here – that’s why they all come back.’

He moved towards the door, and I was powerless to stop him. But with his hand on the handle he paused, scratching his head in a slightly puzzled fashion. ‘You know, all those times you’ve been out East, did you ever hear that old
saying? Buddhist, or Taoist or something like that. I can’t quite remember the exact phrasing, but it went something like this: “You can fly like a dragon to the Truth, through the airs, or you can burrow your head to it through the mud, like a worm; but in the end – both ways are the same.’

He looked thoughtful. ‘By the time you even get near the Rim, you’ve existed so long, been through so much that you forget the early stuff, however important. By the time you come back it’s hardly the shadow of a lost dream. And even then you can’t rely on the little that remains, not just because it’s faint, but because simply by coming back you change it, hopefully for the better. It doesn’t all happen the same, the second time around, or what would be the point? That’s why you came as such a shock. You, and Alison, and the others, when we recognized them. And why we simply had to trust you.’

I stared at him, speechless, and he smiled again. ‘With that sort of stimulus we can remember our human roots, after a fashion, the selves we once were. The way you might remember a childhood friend, something like that; well enough, but you’ve changed a lot yourself. It’s pleasant to see them again – and feel that they were people to be, well, proud of.’ His voice changed slightly. ‘And every bit the way you remembered them. Bye, Steve, we’ll be seeing you again. Soon.’

He opened the door quietly, and stepped through it; but the burst of radiance beyond it came through no ordinary window, ever.

I stared after my visitor awhile. And then, because I had all the time he said, I sat down to read. From time to time I poured myself another coffee, ate another biscuit; he was right, they were good. But in the end, in the fullness of something that was not time, I stood up, and stepped out from behind the desk; but I remembered to tab the intercom. ‘Just to say I’ll be going back now.’

‘Very good, Steve,’ said a voice, and it chuckled. That wasn’t Claire; it sounded more like Alison. I strode to the door, drew a deep breath, and put my hand to the handle.

There was no light. It wasn’t a door handle
in my hand, it was the smooth shaft of the Spear, and I was lifting it high against the wall of smoke that welled up beyond, shot with flames and stench. My other hand lay upon the Graal. The pain had gone, the weariness and the terror I’d been too busy to recognize had sloughed away like the grime of a long day’s labour under a cleansing shower. A clear mountain river leaped and bubbled through my veins, my limbs had the strength of ancient oaks and lindens, my body was the rock they rooted in; and over me shone the sun of the Heilenthal. For that moment I was the Graal’s kingdom, from earth to sky; I was the channel and the repository of its power. Awe gripped me at the ageless weight of it, and the turbulent strength that seemed to shake and buffet the weapon in my hand; but it was mine to channel, mine to direct, mine, as now, to unleash. I swung it, in a great sweeping gesture, around and about me; and light leaped from it, golden light that sprayed and crackled with lightning intensity.

Light that leaped, that blazed, that mocked dull surfaces and turned bright ones into liquid flame. Light that showered down upon the upturned faces around me and shone warmth into them as if they were glass. Light that fell around them like a barrier, that dimmed the world of ugliness beyond, and yet within its own brilliant circle didn’t dazzle or blind. Light that showed you your friends; light that shone through their very flesh, and set their eyes glittering, their hair bristling with its sheer energy. Through my own hand it blazed, and made it a film of clear glass over molten gold. Over the wounded it settled like a glowing web. Blood staunched itself, pain rebelled and became immediate flooding relief, torn flesh sank back into unity as its cells doubled and redoubled in healing fervour, joining without a scar. I saw Alison, upon a crude brush stretcher, stiffen suddenly in that acute cramping agony which follows sudden surcease; yet even that was wiped out as it seized her. Mall, beside her, half rose in shock; but as she did so her hair streamed out in an unseen wind, her eyes shimmered and like a brand held close to the heat she herself blazed up with silvery radiance. She became a molten outline against the darkness, a human fountain of fire; the sword in her hand trailed a great sweep of it in the air. But in the midst of that incandescent gold even her inward furnace flames seemed pale.

Through it I reached out to them, reached through the fascinated eyes to tap what lay behind, the sources of their selves. As the fire enveloped them, they too took light from me, glowing in many colours and intensities from Jyp’s light flickering red, darkening to scarlet as he stared unbelieving
at his hands, to Alison in shimmering blue-green, like dark glass or the twilit ocean, running her hands through her sparkling hair and laughing. Then without warning there was a sense of yielding, of falling into sudden openness, and a roar of thoughts, a shifting blur of images, burst into my mind. Eighteen images, slightly blurred by each viewpoint, each personal perception, images of a superhuman shape like a statue fallen white-hot from the casting, brandishing aloft a shaft of solid light. It dominated their thoughts, that fearful vision, it possessed their minds; and in mental communion they mirrored the light of it back at me. Reflected, the fires grew till I felt as if I could contain them no longer, as if I was rising from the earth on columns of sparking, coruscating flame.

That was what I needed! I – we – reached down and snatched up the Graal, and it lifted as if it was no more substantial than a soap bubble. I turned to face the forest, and all the rest turned with me, easily, acquiescent, sharing each other’s bodies in a constant ebb and flow. But when I lifted the Spear that flow grew fierce, a torrent, and the power of the Graal burst out in thunderous array.

The advancing forest fires roared and flattened as if a great wind blew over them, and the creatures of the Brocken, fleeing them, fell also, and scrabbled in the dust. The enshrouding trees convulsed as the golden light flew across their crests, and in the straight path of the beam the rising earth heaved them aside. Rocks splintered, cracks and chasms closed with a snap, or were filled by a rushing wave of soil and stone. A wide swathe of ground lay clear and levelled, leading along the mountainside directly to the landing ledge, where, miracle of miracles, the
Dove
still rolled, its stern mooring snapped, but bow and midships still holding. And beneath it, pawing the dusty earth, a white horse tossed its head impatiently. Slowly, unhurriedly, I passed through the rest, and in solemn procession, amid a pulsating curtain of light, we made our way down the slopes of the dying mountain. The others joined hands, gasping as light leaped between them; but mine were full. It didn’t matter. I was bound to them by ties far closer than mere touch.

That was what the Graal sought – a state not unlike the Brocken’s, but in a far less horrible and parasitic way. Incomers both from the remoteness of the
Rim, they had the same strengths, the same limitations. The Graal also sought embodiment in the flesh; but by the free will of free minds, and for a while only. It would take nothing, only give.

The forest parted before us, and fell away. But as we passed the open ground I glanced uphill, to where Le Stryge’s rock had stood; it lay fallen and shattered now, and among the churned-up soil only a few scraps of black remained. I stared in vain for any sign of paler ash; but my thought touched Jyp’s, and he shook his head slowly.

No orders were given; none were needed, not even to the horse. The
Dove
was hauled in – it felt impossibly weird, my hands on every rope, but not unpleasant – and we scrambled aboard, into the forward gondola, up the horse-ramp, any way; no danger of leaving anyone behind. The stallion went easily to a stall. Starting the motors and slashing the moorings was swift and silent, and we lifted on a swelling upsurge of gladness and relief, so strong we felt it could have carried us without the aid of hydrogen. Standing at the open door, I watched the boiling mountain crest in its ring of flame, and the things that struggled there; surely there was nothing more to do there. Yet I thought of that twisted face, and it was with a sudden impulse of revulsion and even of mercy that I lifted the Spear one last time.

Even the SS …

‘By the sign you coveted,’ I said softly, ‘I defy your power. As other wounds must be healed, I heal yours, and shatter the walls of torment you raised to relieve your own. Fall, and find peace!’

The light was silent and swift, a dancing, coursing network of flame. The Brocken was in no state to resist, or even shield itself, not so close. The mountain shook visibly, and part of its flank slumped away in a single drumming avalanche. Already I saw the reports in tomorrow’s bulletins, of the small earth tremors that had shaken the Harz mountains, causing only minor damage to the landscape of that popular holiday area. Apart, that is, from the collapse of that bunker. Commentators would be making little jokes about it being symbolic; and they’d be right. They wouldn’t see, as I did, the flicker of dark radiance around that summit, like the uncoiling of vast ragged wings. Something was departing, maybe, something diminished almost to transparency, so it could no longer hold back the dawn.

And with that last effort our light
also faded, and our unity. We were ourselves again, and weary; and with the last traces of it a common shadow enveloped us, for those who were not coming back. ‘You were thinking about Katjka,’ said Jyp quietly, as he joined me at the door, where I’d slumped down, the Graal at my feet, the Spear across my knees.

‘Yes.’

‘You shouldn’t. I’ve known her a hell of a lot longer than you, remember? She’s got what she needed now, needed and courted, surely; and got it well, very well. That’s fine. It was a transformation for her, held up too long.’

‘Transformation?’ I asked quietly.

‘Or just an end?’ added Alison, from the wheel. ‘A dead end?’

‘That was no creed of hers,’ sniffed Mall, unsticking her long hair from her sweat-plastered face. She leaned over Alison’s shoulder, a trace too closely. ‘Whatever she became, once she was a true Christian soul and none of your miserable unbelieving heathens such as you twain. And that’s what’s the matter, surely? What ending one may choose for oneself?’

Alison nodded; and so did I, remembering the single smoky little ikon in Katjka’s room. Jyp and Mall were Christians, as you’d expect from their times and places; Alison was like me, agnostic at best. But we could share a viewpoint out here on the Spiral, where life could be endless and death transient; who was I to argue about something the Graal itself couldn’t be sure of?

Itself. Or themselves?

I looked down at the stone beneath my knees, wondering vaguely why it hadn’t broken my wrist. Only it wasn’t a stone; it was a broad chalice of slightly tarnished white metal, with a scrolling ornament of flowers, the kind of bowl in which Romans mixed their wine. And across my knees lay a long metal shaft with a short stabbing head. I swallowed; and getting to my feet I laid them, carefully and reverentially, across the ledge of the gondola window ahead of the wheel, secure and out of reach.

Clouds rolled down before them as we rose once again, and the blasted remnant of the Brocken was hidden by the clean cool greyness. Jyp came to take the controls, and Alison moved away to stand by me. Nobody spoke much; nobody needed to. We had all been too recently in the flow of one another’s thoughts, and there was a responsiveness, quiet but strong, I’d only ever seen among people who’d known each other a lifetime. The only one who still felt strange to me among them
all was Alison, stranger and more exciting the closer I drew to her, unknown territory, uncharted seas; and I guessed from the resonances I still felt that that was a reflection of her feelings towards me. But because people are the way they are, it only drew me closer. We stood together, and we watched as the
Dove
climbed high over the ramparts and battlements of the clouds, high into the first delicate beams of a glorious sunrise.

Caught in it, their traceries silhouetted against the reddening sky, the towers of the Graal Hall showed us our way home. Under Jyp’s easy direction we came around the curve of what was now a solid mountainside, cruising low over a mountain meadow where my helicopter seemed to be grazing among a herd of complacent cows. Maybe I should put it out to grass, at that, and look into airship shares, if there were any; I was acquiring a taste for a quieter kind of flight. But the sight of the city put it out of my mind, and the sound, audible even over the engines; the sound of guns, sudden and chilling. But then we heard the bells behind them, great clashing cascades of bells and Belgian carillons and English change-ringing and hammering Russian counter-rhythms; it was a salute, a greeting, a homecoming in grand style.

‘It’s almost as if they know already—’ I exclaimed, and Alison smiled.

‘Do you think they wouldn’t know, the moment the Graal returned here?’

The celebration impressed me all the more as we came gliding in, and I saw how many of the figures waving along the walls were bandaged and bloodied, how many still shapes were laid out under white coverings in the guardhouse square. Those would be Lutz’s men, no doubt; but how many had they killed in their turn, of those older Knights, those esquires and plain city folk? Even those pristine buildings had suffered in the fighting, scarred by fire and explosion, windows shattered, columns cracked, here and there a house burned down to bare blackened walls. It was shocking, like raw scars marring a young girl’s face.