Exodus of the Xandim (GOLLANCZ S.F.) (37 page)

‘And because I
do
understand, you must realise that I do not make this request of you lightly. It is not only that I came to love this mortal above all others – it is for
the sakes of all his kind, and all those other beings who use the Well of Souls. What will become of them all if the Well is destroyed? This is not a situation that any of us could have foreseen,
my brother. Dael is tied to his world by a power not of our creating. He
must
return there, and remain until that power sets him free.’

Though the spectre’s face still remained hidden, once more Dael became aware of his intense scrutiny. Long moments passed, and them Death sighed, and shrank down to normal size.
‘Very well, Athina. It shall be as you say. I dare not risk the destruction of the Well of Souls. When your mortal enters the waters, I will return him to his own world forthwith.’

A great tension seemed to go out of Athina, and she too let herself return to the same height as the others. ‘Thank you, Siris. Thank you for believing me.’ Her mouth twisted wryly.
‘You were always a better listener than Uriel.’

‘I always loved you better, my sister.’ There was such sudden, unexpected warmth in that dry and dusty voice that Dael stared at him in wide-eyed astonishment. ‘And I was never
jealous of you, as he was,’ Siris continued. ‘For what it is worth, I informed him that he was wrong and presumptuous to exile you as he did, that he had no right to do so, and that he
should mind his own affairs instead of interfering in yours.’

He shrugged. ‘Uriel always did take entirely too much upon himself, and we have never seen eye to eye on anything, that I can remember. He hates that you have always been a better Creator
than he. Oh, he is good with structure: rock and stone he knows, the foundations and the bones of worlds – but you, with your innate compassion and sympathy, always understood the
interlinking web of life, in all its diverse and amazing complexity. Uriel’s attempts to emulate what you do were never quite adequate.’ He shrugged again. ‘Consider the Moldai,
for example. Are they mountains? Giants? Do they really belong in the Elsewhere, or in the mundane realms? Consider the Dwelven, or their servants of old the Gaeorn, those monstrous rock eaters
with the mandibles of diamond. All exist apart from the plants and forest, birds, beasts and the higher, more complex forms of life that you created. He could never achieve a fraction of the
wonders you have wrought. He lacks the skill, the patience – and, most importantly, the heart. You pour your love into all of your creations, Athina. You hold back nothing, and it shows. Even
this insignificant mortal . . .’

‘This one is far from insignificant.’ Athina went to Dael, and suddenly her form became less ethereal. As she put her arms around him, he could feel the living, vibrant warmth of
her, just as he had of old.

‘He looks the same as all the rest to me,’ Siris said.

Athina hugged Dael again. ‘Some things were simply meant to be,’ she said. As they embraced, he felt her slip something into his pocket, and spoke directly into his mind, something
she had never done before. ‘When you enter the Well, fill this vial with the water. Keep it secret. Keep it safe. These waters have many strange powers. Who knows, they may bring you back to
me one day.’

Dael gasped, his hope blossoming anew – then he saw warning in her eyes and the barely perceptible shake of her head.

‘Don’t count on it,’ she was telling him, as clearly as if, once again, she had put the words into his mind. ‘Don’t hope too much.’

His heart sank again, yet now, at least, he had a faint spark of hope to sustain him through the sorrow of another parting.

Siris, looking at them, sighed. ‘Enough,’ he said gruffly. ‘Finish saying goodbye to your pet, Athina. I will send him back, and perhaps we can put this unfortunate business
behind us.’

Athina nodded and stepped back. ‘Farewell, brave Dael,’ she said softly. ‘Do not lose heart. All will be well.’

‘Farewell,’ Dael answered. If she believed him to be brave, then brave he would be, and if she told him all would be well, he would trust her. Taking a deep breath, he approached the
dark and silent pool – and stopped abruptly, as searing beams of light fountained up from its surface. But all would be well. Athina had promised him. Shielding his eyes from the brilliant
light with his hand, he stepped to the brink, knelt, looked down into the Well of Souls – and gasped.

Beneath the unruffled surface of those deceptive waters was a dizzying vortex, a spinning whirlpool of stars that swirled endlessly down into infinity. He tried to draw back, but the Well had
caught him. The whirling took hold of him, drawing him downward until suddenly he toppled into the water, which closed over his head. The vortex was pulling him downward, and Dael know he only had
an instant in which to act. He snatched Athina’s little vial from his pocket and pulled out the stopper, replacing it quickly and hoping that the vial had time to fill. Then all at once he
was slamming back into his body with a shattering force that sucked a huge, wheezing gulp of air into his lungs, like the first breath of a newborn. His eyes flew open in shock – and there he
was, back in the cave.

~

A
s she struggled to maintain her shields against the Phaerie, Corisand felt everything slipping away from her. ‘How does it feel to
lose?’ the Phaerie leader taunted. ‘For you’ve lost already. How else do you think we found you here? Lady Tiolani exposed your little nest of plotters and gave us the location of
your secret lurking place, and once we’ve taken
you
, we’ll have you all. You’re weakening, you’re beaten, and you know it. Soon you’ll find out what it means
to cross the Phaerie!’

Corisand gasped. He had to be speaking the truth. Tiolani had betrayed them all! And what of Taine and Aelwen? Imprisoned? Tortured? Dead? What of Iriana? Gone, captured, at the mercy of a
pitiless enemy. Dael . . . Grief and guilt wrenched at her heart. Destroyed by the power of the Fialan, Dael was gone too, on a darker and more lonely road. She need not glance down at the crumpled
form that lay grey-faced and still at her feet to know that he was dead. She had asked him to hold on to the Stone for longer than he could bear, and she had killed him. And for what?

She had lost the Stone of Fate when Dael succumbed, and could no longer use its power to help her. It had rolled away somewhere when it fell from his hand: into some hole or crevice, probably,
since she could no longer see its glow. Forced to give all her concentration to her shield, she was unable to search for it – but the Phaerie had seen it now, and had sensed its power. Once
she was vanquished, they would have all the time in the world to find it, for without the Stone, she was losing the battle. The Phaerie were too many for her. They could just keep on wearing away
at her, until she faded through hunger or thirst, or they finally sapped her strength.

The end came without warning. Suddenly her shield burst apart, the enemy came streaming through, and she was overwhelmed.

Less than a month ago, Aelwen had believed that she’d never see Taine again. Their reunion, beyond all hope and expectation, had transformed her life, and the joy that
filled her, the jolt of pure, bright pleasure that she experienced every time she saw him, were the most wonderful feelings she had ever known. So she had never expected that, after such a short
time, she would be cursing his name.

Aelwen was a horsewoman. She had worked in the Forest Lord’s stables since she was a girl. She had the strong legs of a rider, the strong arms, back and shoulders that came from years of
controlling powerful horses, but it took an entirely different set of muscles to slog on foot through miles and miles of endless forest, to wade chest deep, or even worse, to swim across freezing
cold rivers, to plough through stretches of mosquito-infested, glutinous muskeg and to hack a route through tangled undergrowth with briars tangling in her hair and tearing at her skin, and
branches whipping across her face . . .

Right at this minute, Aelwen thought, glaring at Taine as he slipped through the trees as effortlessly as a shadow, she would have gladly traded her lover for her horse.

It was all very well for him. In his years as a fugitive and a spy, he had grown accustomed to this form of rough travel, and become a very skilled woodsman. But they had been on the march for
the best part of two days now, following the river staying on the Wizards’ side to avoid detection, with the spectral forms of the Dwelven thronging around them, producing wave after wave of
anger and hate that beat against Taine and Aelwen remorselessly, draining their flagging spirits even as the forest was wearing down their bodies.

It had begun to feel as if they would never reach the ravine in which the others should be hiding out. At first, Aelwen had been able to apport herself and Taine over the rougher sections of the
terrain, but the effort had proved to be increasingly exhausting for her, requiring longer and longer rests afterwards, until they had decided that they would ultimately make better time on their
own aching feet. (Aelwen was wearing riding boots, and the pain of her blistered toes and heels was growing worse by the hour.)

Kaldath, despite all the years he carried, fared better. Somehow, his close connection with the Dwelven spirits allowed them to carry him along, and his body, neither truly alive nor dead, but
caught by Hellorin in a strange, magical limbo of immortality, did not feel the strain of all the hard travel. He also was immune to the oppressive miasma of emotion that emanated from the ghosts,
which was sapping so much of Taine and Aelwen’s energy.

‘We’re almost there,’ Taine had said that morning, when they had risen before sunrise to resume their grim march. ‘It’s shouldn’t be all that much
further.’ He had led them to a reasonably safe place to cross the border between the Wizard and Phaerie realms, where the Carnim river spread out in a series of riffles interspersed with
rocks and gravel bars. The water had still been waist deep in places, however, and had contained a number of hidden dips and crevices where a false step could result in a soaking. Despite using a
drying spell on herself when she reached the far side, Aelwen still felt slightly damp, with her hair hanging in rat-tails, and her clothing stiff with silt and mud.

Hours had passed since then, and now the sun had sunk down behind the treetops once more. Stealthily, they crept along, with even greater caution than ever, now that they were on the northern,
Phaerie side of the river. Suddenly Taine, walking ahead, stopped and raised his hand. ‘Almost there,’ he whispered. ‘Look.’

Aelwen followed his pointing hand towards the river, and saw the extraordinary, bicoloured waters, the light and dark streams running alongside one another.

‘We’re finally near the confluence of the Carnim and the Snowstream,’ Taine whispered. ‘The gorge is just ahead.’ He turned to the ancient guardian of the Dwelven
ghosts. ‘Kaldath, can you send some of the spirits into the ravine to scout for us? Have them check the woods along the top of the cliffs, too, on either side. I want to make sure we’re
not walking into a trap.’

‘Of course.’ Kaldath walked a little way apart, and Aelwen saw the air roil and shimmer as the Dwelven spirits clustered around him in response to his mental call. Then suddenly they
were gone, and the feelings of oppression, of sorrow and anger in the air all vanished. Kaldath came walking back to the Hemifae. ‘It should not take them long to find out what you need to
know.’

‘In that case, I’m going to make the most of what time we have.’ With a sigh of relief, Aelwen sank down onto the soft leaf litter, propped her aching back against a tree
trunk, and stretched out her legs. She took her water flask and a strip of jerky out of the pouch at her belt, took a swig, then began to chew her way through the leathery strip of dried meat.

Taine sat down beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. ‘You’ve done well,’ he told her. ‘It’s a tough journey through deep forest for someone who
isn’t used to travelling for long distances on foot. Hopefully, once we join the others, you’ll be back in your element, astride a horse.’

Aelwen grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t count on it. Tiolani was captured, remember, and we were forced to leave her behind. Without her flying magic we won’t be going anywhere in a
hurry. Of course,’ she added in brighter tones, ‘Iriana and the others – if they made it – should have brought their mounts with them, so at least we won’t have to
slog the entire way to Eliorand on foot.’ Then her expression relapsed into gloom. ‘That is, if they succeeded in winning the Fialan and getting back from the Elsewhere, and if they
managed to get here, and if the Phaerie haven’t caught them already.’

‘Well, we’ll soon find out.’ Taine was looking across at Kaldath who had risen to his feet as the air around him grew turbulent once more. The ancient one stood for a moment,
listening intently, then he rejoined Taine and Aelwen, looking grim. ‘The Phaerie are here,’ he said gravely, ‘and so are your friends, as far as I can ascertain from what I have
been told. According to the Dwelven there seems to be some sort of fight going on inside the cave. We had better get up there quickly.’

Taine looked at Aelwen. ‘Have you strength enough for one last apport?’

‘Into a
cave
? Somewhere I’ve never been before? We could be entombed in solid rock!’

‘I’ve been there before, many times,’ Taine replied. ‘You can take the placement from my mind.’

‘But if the place is full of people, both the Phaerie and our friends, how can we know where there’ll be a clear space?’

‘Wait a little while,’ Kaldath said flatly. ‘The Dwelven will take care of the Phaerie.’

Hands seized Corisand roughly, holding her tight enough to bruise. She struggled at first in the grip of her captors, but when her efforts earned her nothing but blows, she
finally desisted and hung limp in their grasp, her face, ribs and stomach throbbing fiercely. Her mind, however, was still working with the rapidity of terror.