Mirror 04 The Way Between the Worlds (58 page)

mouth that set her lips ablaze. 'And so am I,' he said with a fierce grin,
'but we'll do our damnedest. Are you ready?'
Her throat was dry. Karan reached for a flask sitting in an open compartment,
gulping the sweet cordial down. 'I'm ready!' she gasped, though she felt as
wobbly as a custard. She linked to Maigraith and to Rulke, and the link with
Maigraith was like being encased in diamond. Karan felt utterly protected,
sheltered and cared for - nothing could harm her this time.
Rulke cried out through the punctured Forbidding for Aachan, for the Charon.
His longing reverberated across the void, leaping from Way to Way with Karan,
secure in the knowledge that Maigraith guarded them back in Santhenar. And
bolstered by Maigraith's unique triune talents, developed from the decades of
training with Faelamor and her own urgent need to meet her Charon ancestors,
they found it.
Who's there? The voice spoke in their heads, so clearly that she might have
been beside them on the construct. It was a deep woman's voice with a rasp to
it as if she had lived her life in smoky rooms. Rulke, can it be you?
'Yalkara!' Maigraith whispered across the link. She knew this voice.
'Yalkara!' Rulke cried harshly. T can't see you. Show yourself. I'm
desperate!'
He conjured a bubble out of the wall of the Forbidding. It floated in the air
before them like a shiny metal ball, and the whole universe seemed to be
reflected in it, curving away in all directions to infinity. The reflections
in front of them misted, cleared and a face appeared that Maigraith knew
almost as well as her own. It was Yalkara, but she was much older than she had
appeared on the Mirror. The long hair was completely silver now. Yalkara's
lips moved but her voice spoke in their heads.
'Yalkara!' Rulke screamed. 'Call the Hundred together. Our time is now, but
the precipice yawns.'
Who is this with you? Yalkara whispered. Can it be her?
'I am Maigraith,' she said. 'Aeolior's daughter. Faelamor mated her to a
Faellem to make a triune - me! Aeolior is dead. Rulke and I have sworn to each
other forever.' Maigraith - Aeolior! said Yalkara. She looked stunned. 'And
here is my friend Karan, triune too.' She pointed at Karan.
So like Elienor, said Yalkara.
'Quickly,' Rulke said. 'The Forbidding is decaying and must fail. Faelamor has
made a nanollet device, and Mendark a new flute from your gold.' 'But I warned

-'
'The Twisted Mirror!' snapped Rulke. 'It would take too long to explain.
Besides, I have a device that surpasses them all - my construct!' His voice
rang with pride. 'I can bring you here at last, and ensure the survival of our
species. But I don't dare open the Way from here, not with Faelamor rampant.
Can you open it from Aachan and bring yourselves to my gate?'
You have come at the last possible moment, she replied. We despaired and were
near to finishing ourselves. It won't be easy, but I think I can do it.
Together they made rudimentary gates at her end and his, but Rulke kept his
gate firmly closed.
I will seek out the Way to Santhenar from this end. These are very unstable
gates, Rulke. Can't you hold the Forbidding any better than this?
'I'll be lucky to hold it at all,' he said grimly. 'Faelamor's nanollet is
made from the golden flute.' She's insane!
'Or desperate! Come quickly! It's going to be a harsh passage. Send the most
important first, because it'll get worse.' Only ten of us are still fertile.
Four men and six women. Guard them well. Without them we are extinct.
Rulke changed his mind. 'No! Send the strongest. Protect the fertile ones till
the last.' As he spoke, a burst of static misted over the mirror globe and
Yalkara faded.
Rulke used the construct to fashion a chamber in the Wall, as far away from
the lens as possible. It had the form of a silver egg, with a round door at
the front like a porthole.
I have traced back the Way to Santhenar, said Yalkara. Something rang against

his chamber like a hammer on an anvil.
'I can barely hold it.' Sweat dripped off his chin. 'I've lost them! No, it's
all right, it's all right!'
He banged the porthole open and a woman appeared in the chamber. She was
naked, as was everyone who passed between the worlds, limp and defenceless.
The chamber clouded over as something tried to force the door closed again.
Rulke worked feverishly at his controls. 'Run, get them out while I hold it!'
he said to Maigraith and Karan. 'Ah, this is hard.'
Maigraith and Karan dragged the woman out, and seven more Charon after her. It
was a struggle to haul them over the lip through the small porthole, for they
were big people. Maigraith's shoulder was bloody before they had finished. The
arrow wound had broken open again.
Each Charon was as bewildered and helpless as a baby. The passage had shaken
them. But Rulke was exultant, as were the faces of the other Charon in the
reflecting sphere.
'It's getting harder to hold!' Rulke shouted to Yalkara. 'Better come quickly,
if you're coming. Maigraith, hold this.' She climbed back up while he sprang
down from the construct and lifted the last two out, both men, as gently as if
they were his own children.
The Charon lay scattered over the floor, stunned from the brutal journey.
'We've got to get them into the protection of the construct. Come through!' he
shouted to Yalkara, whose face had just reappeared on the reflecting sphere.
We're almost ready, she sighed. Oh, this is the greatest day of our lives!
'And mine,' said Rulke. His smile stretched from one side of his face to the
other. His eyes shone like indigo suns.
'We've waited four thousand years for this,' he said to Maigraith.
Rulke picked up the first of the Charon under his arms, a woman as tall as he
was, big in the breast and the hips. She groaned and tossed her long black
hair. Her bare feet slithered across the tiles.
At that moment Faelamor stood up high on the central stair. Supporting herself
on the glass rail like a crazed witch she played a veritable symphony of
sounds on the nanollet -an achingly haunting tune that brought tears to
Karan's eyes, a lamentation for the death of a world.
What? screamed Yalkara. What's that? No, Rulke, quickly -
Rulke spun around. High in the air another lens was forming in the Forbidding,
all by itself.
The lens solidified into an oval gate that shone like metal. 'No!' Rulke
moaned, dropping the woman. 'Maigraith, get them into the construct. I've got
to stop her.'
He ran in leaping bounds towards the construct but Faelamor brought down her
final deception, the greatest of her long life. Suddenly the floor moved under
Rulke as if he was running on a treadmill. He ran harder but still made no
progress.
'The construct may be proof against my enchantments,' sneered Faelamor, 'but
you are not!'
Rulke pounded away, running faster than any human had ever run. For a few
seconds he seemed to be gaining, then the floor swept him backwards again.
The oval gate opened and a creature sprang through. It was almost as tall as
the construct, with huge intelligent eyes and clawed wingtips. The wings
soared over it, casting it into an impenetrable shadow.
'What is that?' cried Maigraith.
'It looks like a thranx,' Karan muttered.
Rulke abandoned the fruitless chase. 'It's a kind of a thranx,' he said, his
chest heaving. 'The worst kind!' His clothes dripped sweat which puddled on
the floor. 'One of
the most fearsome creatures in the void. It is violent, but clever too. And I
don't even have a weapon.'
The thranx, a female, braked its fall with a snap of leathery wings and landed
skidding on the floor.

'Kill them,' screamed Faelamor, now on a balcony high above. 'Kill them all
and you can have your own world.'
The thranx cracked its wings again and headed with soaring bounds toward the
ten helpless Charon. The head of another thranx emerged through the gate. It
flapped down in the same direction.
Karan disappeared out a side door. 'I can't blame you,' Rulke sighed, but a
moment later she came racing back with a horde of Ghashad behind her. One of
them, the squat one called Jark-un, cried, 'Master!' and flung a long sword to
him.
Plucking it out of the air, Rulke leapt at the first thranx. It towered over
him. The thranx was blindingly fast. It flicked a wing at him and the spiked
leading edge tore open his shoulder.
Rulke sprang back and to one side, stabbing at the thranx's plated knee,
aiming for the joins. His sword tip skated across armour as hard as metal. The
thranx kicked him in the hip, knocking him off his feet. Rulke skidded across
the floor, desperately trying to hold on to his sword.
Over near the door a band of Ghashad had begun to attack the second thranx but
they were hopelessly outmatched. One lay dead already. A dozen others pressed
the attack, then the thranx spun around, ripped a length of rail off a side
stair and swung it like a scythe. Half a dozen Ghashad were bowled over, and
not one of them got up again. The thranx sent the twisted rail flying across
the room at Rulke's back, then leapt among the helpless Charon.
Karan caught sight of Faelamor's impassive face. It showed nothing - neither
joy nor triumph, just a deadly implacability.
She doesn't care about any of us, Karan thought. Another band of Ghashad
surrounded the second thranx. They fought with more cunning than the first
group, for they managed
to put a spear in the back of the creature. The injury did not hinder it
noticeably.
Maigraith and Rulke fought side-by-side but were surely being defeated. Rulke
bore half a dozen gashes and was tiring rapidly. Maigraith's thigh was torn
open to the knee, her injured shoulder useless. The thranx seemed to be
unharmed. High up Karan saw a third thranx at Faelamor's gate, but it was
having trouble getting through.
Karan knew it was futile for her to attack such a creature, but by circling
round she had come right up to the construct. Suddenly inspired, she scrambled
up its curving flank and flopped into the seat. In front of her was a bank of
six levers, a console with glowing yellow plates, several small wheels and a
shrubbery of coloured knobs. On the floor five crescent-shaped pedals
protruded in a row. She remembered which levers Rulke had used to control it.
What she did not know was how he used his mind to direct it.
Here goes! Stretching her left foot forward, she stamped on the left-hand
pedal, having to come right out of the seat to do so. The machine was not
designed for someone as small as she. The construct shuddered. She eased back
the central pair of levers. It bucked, whined but did not move. Forward! she
sent frantically. Coloured lines appeared on the glowing plates. Lights
flashed from one end of the spectrum to the other. Why won't you go, stupid
machine?
The construct tilted back and took off at a steep angle. Karan hung on
desperately, in danger of being flung over the rear. Now it began to climb
vertically, rocketing towards the distant ceiling. A siren went off in her
ear. Use the levers! She pushed one forward.
The construct turned on its side, veered crabwise across the room and caromed
off the glassy barrier behind which the company watched helplessly. Karan hung
on by a finger. Her knee hit a blue knob, evidently a kind of throttle, for
the machine slowed down, giving her a chance to experiment with the second
lever. The construct resumed an even keel,
drifting slowly in the air. High above, the third thranx was coming through
the gate.
Her airborne chariot curved around the room, heading up toward the balcony

from which Faelamor had wrought so much damage. Faelamor's hands were moving
frantically, casting a deception that Karan knew would render her helpless.
From this high, the fall would kill her.
She wrenched the blue knob right out. The construct took off as if inertia had
never been discovered and shot toward the pair of helically coiled staircases.
The siren blasted again. Karan was paralysed, afraid to touch the levers. At
the last moment her hand moved by instinct, nudged one lever sideways, the
construct altered course fractionally and shot between the twin spirals,
almost taking her head off. Out the other side it roared up towards Faelamor's
balcony.
Before either of them could react, it smashed into the balcony from
underneath, knocking most of it away. Karan's head hit the flaring hood, she
blanked out momentarily, but recovered to find the construct spinning crazily
across the room. She lost sight of Faelamor. The battle down below came into
view.
Rulke was down. Maigraith stood over him, a frail forlorn figure overwhelmed
by the might of the thranx. Karan tried to point the construct at them but the
controls no longer seemed to work. Maybe the blow had robbed her of the
capacity to control it. The siren emitted high-pitched screams, the lights
were a firework display, the glowing plates went mad. The machine flopped
across the room like a beached fish. She approached the melee, watching with
horrified eyes as the thranx drew itself up for the death blow. Karan pushed
her levers back and forth uselessly, feeling her own despair and fury
building, then the construct gave a lurch, crossed overhead and all the lights
went out.
It dropped out of the air, crushing the thranx down flat. Karan fell off,
landed like a cat and scrabbled across on hands and knees, terrified that she
had killed Maigraith and Rulke.
'Are you all right?' she choked, dragging her friend out from underneath.
Maigraith helped Rulke up. 'Just!' She was staring at the upcurving base of
the construct above her. 'You missed us by a finger,' she said in an awed
voice. 'How did you manage
it?'
Karan did not answer. She watched the death throes of the thranx, its wing
spikes rattling across the corrugated underside of the construct. The ruined
wing flexed and retracted, over and again.
Rulke could hardly stand. He gripped Karan's shoulder like a vice, wordless
thanks, then staggered off to find the
other Charon.
The second thranx lay still with a dozen spears in it, front and back. Many of
the Ghashad were dead. 'Another few seconds and it would have been too late,'
said Rulke. 'Thank -'
They turned around the body of the thranx, its bulk and upturned wings
shielding them from what was beyond. The Charon were tattered and torn like a
tiger's playthings. All
ten were dead.
Rulke crushed his fists together, the Charon way of grief. For a full minute
he did not move. Then his face grew as cold as the continent of ice at the
uttermost pole. 'I will avenge you,' he ground out, 'no matter what it takes!
Even if I have to come back from the dead to do so. You will rue this deed for
a hundred centuries, Faelamor! I curse you and your descendants until the end
of time itself!'
Reaching into Maigraith's coat, he plucked out the Mirror and wrested it to
his will. 'Let her try to use that ever again.'
They looked up. Faelamor had disappeared from the smashed balcony. Her gate
was gone too, but on the floor directly beneath lay the body of the third
thranx, still twitching among the shreds of its vast wings. At least, all of
it from
the hips up.
'The gate must have closed when it was halfway through,'