Mirror 04 The Way Between the Worlds (47 page)

As they trudged along, Karan recalled Rulke's words: You will come of your own
accord when the time is right. How right he'd been.
Karan was also thinking about Fiz Gorge She felt much as she had then, that
she was going foolishly into something way beyond her strength. She could feel
the tension building inside her, the sense of something terrible about to
happen -something irrecoverable. Despite herself she began to radiate waves of
anxiety, as she had that other time.
Maigraith could feel it too. Poor Karan, to be a sensitive, a prisoner of her
heightened feelings. But Maigraith knew better how to deal with that now.
'When I was a child, dwelling in the vast land of Mirrilladell,' she said,
'there were two things (save for a mother, and a father) that I yearned for.'
Karan looked up, so unexpected was this remark.
'The sea, and the mountains,' Maigraith continued. 'I had a taste of the sea,
with my shell sighing in my ear, but I had never been to the mountains. You
have not visited Mirrilladell, have you?'
'Never,' Karan said softly.
'You would not like it much. It is a monotonous land - at least the child in
me thought so, though going back there later I found much in it to stir my
memories. It is bitter in the winter, for whether the winds blow from the
uttermost pole to the south or the great mountain barrier that encloses the
country in the north, preventing all commerce, they are always frigid.
'In the summer Mirrilladell is steamy and gnat-ridden, and I swear it has
insects that can bite through leather. It is a place of a million lakes, and
as many bogs, hills like dingy sheep, and trees that are all the same wherever
you go, nothing like your beautiful forests in Meldorin.
'But from the tallest of those hummocks I could see the ramparts of the
mountains, and I yearned for them. They are the greatest in all the Three
Worlds, Faelamor once told me. Six and seven thousand spans are the highest
peaks, and the fang of Tirthrax at least a thousand more, reaching even beyond
the upper air, they say. Imagine! You can see Tirthrax from any hill in
Mirrilladell, when it is clear, and it is never the same twice.'
Karan had been calculating. 'Four times the height of Shazmak? Nothing could
be that high.'
'Tirthrax is a thing to be wondered at, but first you must see it. It is
impossible to imagine.'
They were now picking their way among the outcrops where Karan had made her
snow cave the day after hythe. There was barely enough snow to make a cave
now. The sun shone on their backs and for once there was no wind. As they
climbed among knotted grey rocks, they were soon sweating.
'To the native people of Mirrilladell, Tirthrax epitomises everything cruel,
indomitable and capricious. They hate that mountain looming over their land,
overshadowing everything they do. And that is one of the few beliefs the
Faellem adopted from that people, for they hate it too.'
'How can you hate a mountain?'
'If you can love your mountains, as you do, and the Aachim do,' said Maigraith
equably, 'I suppose you can hate them as well. But I was captivated by it.
Even more so when I realised how much they hated it. When I was young I used
to make up stories about it.'
The slope grew steeper as they walked beside the gash of the ravine, with its
black dykes cutting across. Here and there a slender bridge of almost
transparent ice still remained. Karan related her reckless escape across the
ice bridge.
'And you lecture me about being careful,' Maigraith said softly, looking down
at the broken rocks in the bottom of the gorge. It was some time before she
continued.
'Later, as my education progressed, I lost that faculty of the imagination.
All that was stripped from me by the harsh regime that was my schooling and my
life. It was one of the things that made it all so hard to bear - there was
nowhere left for me to hide. Later I built myself another place, but it was an
intellectual refuge, not nearly so comforting.'

'I'd like to hear about your childhood fancies,' said Karan. She identified
readily with the miseries of children, her own later childhood having been so
unhappy. Once again she was struck by the parallels between her life and
Maigraith's.
'Most of them are gone, though Tirthrax remains. I suppose the yearnings were
too strong ever to be blocked out.'
Now they were on the main path to Shazmak, a steep track that wound ever
upwards. The wind never stopped here.
'I don't know whether there are people living in the Great Mountains. Probably
they are so high that nothing could ever grow there, though at the time I
thought differently. I imagined myself dwelling inside the warm heart of the
mountain. Within Tirthrax there were other people, like me. Friendly people,
who wanted me and cared for me. So went my dreams. You can imagine how much
the mountains meant to me, especially after I lost the sea. They were the
one thing that could never be taken from me, for if I climbed any hill in
Mirrilladell I could see them again.'
'The principal city of the Aachim is at Tirthrax,' said Karan. 'Set deep into
the heart of the mountain.'
'It must be a wonderful place.'
'So I hear. I've not been there.'
'Your coming is a great inconvenience,' said Maigraith that evening as they
ate a frugal supper. 'I brought only enough food for myself. What a pest you
are.' But she was smiling as she said it, and passed Karan another tiny
portion.
Karan stuffed the morsel in as if afraid Maigraith would snatch it back. 'It's
only four or five days. Even if we have nothing for the last day or two, we
won't die of it.'
'It won't help to be half-starved when we get there.'
Karan checked the wound, squinting in the firelight. 'Try this lightglass,'
Maigraith said, handing her one. 'You can keep it.'
The wound was no worse than before, but no better either. Karan bandaged
Maigraith's shoulder again. 'You would have had trouble doing that by
yourself,' she said. 'And it would have disabled you worse than hunger.'
They kept on, walking late into the evening, taking a brief sleep but always
back on the path again by dawn. In this way they reached the top of the
eastern pass into Chollaz on only the third afternoon out of Carcharon. It was
good progress, but conditions had been good for walking - fine weather and the
snow crusty, even at the highest altitudes.
Since Carcharon, Karan had put her fears behind her, pretending that they were
on a country stroll together. They looked down towards Shazmak, though all
Karan saw was a wilderness of rocky alps and precipitous canyons. She
remembered the first time she'd stood here, a girl of twelve, staring into the
wasteland in dismay. There had been nothing ahead but rocks and snow, and the
prospect of starvation.
Karan remembered other times too - happy times mostly,
going in or out of Shazmak with Rael or her other Aachim friends. Whether
she'd been going or returning, there was always a thrill at this point.
All gone now. Rael had drowned in the Garr, and even that tragedy was more
than a year ago. The Shazmak that she had known was gone forever. Their
ancient enemies had made it their own. That, too, she had set in motion.
Maigraith must have sensed Karan's mood, for she gave her time for herself.
When it was nearly dark she put her good arm across Karan's shoulders.
'Time to make camp. You said there was a way station here?'
Rousing herself, Karan led them down a barely perceptible path to a sheltered
place beneath an overhanging ledge. There they found a small, round chamber
cut into the rock, with a slab of stone that could be slid across to close it
against the weather.
'This is not Aachim work,' said Maigraith.
'No, it's much too rude for that. It's older than their tenure here. I don't
know how old.'

'And were there not Sentinels too?'
'Yes, and confusions, so that unwanted visitors never found the way in.
Perhaps they failed when Shazmak fell.'
They had another scanty meal, rolled into their sleeping pouches and slept. At
least, Karan slept. Again Maigraith felt no need of it. Her shoulder was
painful but she willed it out of mind. A few stars were visible above the
mountains, though by the middle of the night they were veiled in mist. She lay
in the dark, thinking; watching.
In the darkest hour of the night she rose, took the remaining food from her
pack and put it on the floor beside Karan. Then she bent down, touched Karan's
temple with her fingertips, saying softly, 'Sleep!'
Karan sighed, shrugged herself down under the covers and settled down to a
sounder, deeper sleep. Maigraith threw her pack, now much lighter, over one
shoulder, pulled on
her boots and went outside. A three-quarter moon shone down through thick
mist. She slid the stone door closed, her fingers danced on it for a moment,
then she turned and headed down the path toward Shazmak, all alone.
My Enemy My Friend
Maigraith felt a tense anticipation. She had finally cast off the shackles of
her old life - the one Faelamor had moulded for her. The future was unknown,
but whatever awaited her in Shazmak the choice was her own.
And what did await her there, she wondered as she picked her way down the
track in the darkness. A sliver of moonlight illuminated the path every now
and then, but the mist made everything surreal. She could hardly tell the
difference between cliff wall on her right and precipice to her left, and
between the snow and the ice-covered stone beneath her feet.
Pressing on too quickly, thinking about what lay ahead, Maigraith trod on a
slick patch and her boots skidded. She fell against the rock face, hurting her
injured shoulder. As she picked herself up, Maigraith realised that her heart
was going like a battering ram. The danger here was real, and more immediate
than Shazmak. She could just as easily have gone over the edge.
Folding her coat under her, Maigraith sat down with her back to the cliff. Her
shoulder throbbed. The river far below, tributary to the Garr, rustled in its
bed. The wind sighed through frost-carved pinnacles of stone above her. Her
thoughts kept coming back to Rulke, to the memory of him that hot night in
Thurkad when his half-embodied sending
had appeared in the storm. He had been magnificent and terrible, and when he
lifted her up his fingers had been burning hot. And yet, he had seemed
vulnerable too.
First Yggur, and now Rulke, she mused. Why am I drawn to powerful, ruthless
men with a vulnerable side? Is it because I am so incomplete in myself? Yggur
cared for me, and still does, but he doesn't care about anyone else. He's full
of anger and fear, and he would do anything to get what he wants. Look what he
did to Meldorin with his warring, and to the Second Army. And, she reflected,
he kept from me the secret of my true heritage. He knew it all along, or
guessed it, even back in Fiz Gorgo. I remember him saying, as clear as day,
Tell me where I can find Faelamor, and why she wants the Mirror, and I will
tell you who your parents were, what happened to them, and why it brought such
shame upon the Faellem.
But he never did, and later when I asked him about it he pretended that he had
been wrong all along. Why did he lie? Was he afraid what I would do if I knew
I had Charon blood in me?
Taking out the Mirror, she stared at the silvery metal in the threads of
moonlight. Ghostly images swarmed just below its surface, her past and perhaps
her future too, but she did not stir a finger to bring them out. Not now. Not
here!
Maigraith continued on. It was a long walk from the way station to Shazmak,
but she did not dare to rest, in case Karan freed herself more quickly than
expected. In the afternoon she reached the gossamer bridge beside which Karan
and Llian had camped on their journey into Shazmak from Tullin. Crossing the

bridge, she kept going. Several times she sensed iron Sentinels watching the
track, but each time Maigraith slipped past without alarming them. It was
something that she instinctively knew how to do. The night was cold and clear,
not what she would have chosen. How would she get in? What would she find
there? What would she do then? She had no answers.
Around the middle of the night she crossed the last bridge. Its gentle swaying
under her feet made her nauseous. She was almost ill with exhaustion and
hunger. Out over the middle of the Garr, the river's tumultuous passage down
the gorge made a roar that even this high above was deafening. Ripples passed
along the bridge. The wind was a swell that lifted it and let it fall again.
At the same time it oscillated from side to side, sinuous waves passing along
it like a snake crawling across sand. Maigraith felt well and truly seasick by
the time she reached the other side.
Before her was a set of great gates made of wrought-iron, with towering gate
posts, but they were closed. She inspected them using a glimmer from her
globe. As she did so she became aware of figures beyond the gates: two of the
tall Whelm. No, these ones called themselves Ghashad. She squeezed her
lightglass and its rays streamed out between her fingers, illuminating her.
She knew that she looked very strong, remote and unpredictable. She rapped on
the gate.
'My name is Maigraith,' she said to the first sentry. His face was scarred as
if it had been rubbed with grit paper. The second was a woman, almost as tall,
with a fall of raven black hair and black eyes, pretty in a gaunt sort of a
way. They were Idlis and Yetchah, banished to guard duty since their vote
against Rulke's tale at the great telling in Carcharon. 'Take me to Rulke!'
She felt a thrill run through her on saying his name.
Recognising her, Yetchah let out a wailing cry and sprang forward, quivering
with animosity. Idlis restrained her. They each took an arm, but Maigraith
would not be led like a prisoner, especially not to him.
'Let go my arms,' she said coldly, and they did so, ushering her through a
roofed passageway and across the courtyard, with its amber and black
flagstones, its little coiled towers, its domes of carven jade. The silver
tracery on the towers made shining lines in the moonlight, but the black
fountain was crusted all down one side with ice frozen like candle
wax. Somehow that seemed to diminish the magnificence of Shazmak.
'Go before,' she said. 'Announce me!'
Perhaps these Ghashad knew what she had done to their fellows in Fiz Gorgo and
in Bannador. Or perhaps they had orders concerning her, for they made no
further attempts to secure her. At a set of double doors, three times her
height, Yetchah rapped a signal. The doors opened. She spoke to the guards
inside. A pair went out to do duty at the gates. Maigraith passed through; the
doors slammed behind her. She had got in, but would she ever get out again?
'Come!' said Idlis in his glutinous voice.
She followed him down long corridors and up strangely twisting stairs. Yetchah
trod right behind her, which made Maigraith so nervous that she was oblivious
to her surroundings. She could not have told what the floors were made of, or
the walls. She did not once look at the carvings and murals on every surface,
or the wire sculptures hanging from the ceilings. She could have found her way
out again, but that was all.
Her heart began to pound. She tried to will it to be quiet. Her mouth was
dusty dry. What if she opened it to speak and only a croak came out? All sorts
of fears, mostly fanciful, began to plague her. She forced them away; it took
a great effort. Maigraith noted how her self-control eluded her, as it had let
her down so often in the past. She had it in abundance, until she really
needed it.
They entered a meeting hall, a vast space with a soaring ceiling that grew out
of the walls like the curve of a shell. It made a dazzling architectural
display, a demonstration of the Aachim's mastery of space and materials. The
hall must have been two hundred paces long, and nearly that wide and high. Off
the sides were smaller chambers with the same shell-like curves of wall