Spellbreakers (6 page)

There were sword ferns and royal ferns, stag’s-horn and
hart’s-tongue ferns, maidenhair and spleenwort, fishtail fern and bird’s nest
ferns. Dee pointed them out when one or the other was picked by a beam of moonshine,
whispering the names like a litany. Leal was silent, overwhelmed by the
strangeness of the place. There were trees and stumps covered in ferns, walls
of rock dripping with water and hung all over with ferns. Ferns carpeted the
ground and hung in tumbling clusters from branches overhead.

“Here we are, almost,” said Dee as they reached the
very bottom of the steep valley. Here all the dripping waters gathered into the
shallow stream, which trickled and chuckled in a narrow rocky bed at the
bottom. It was almost wholly dark, but Leal’s eyes were now accustomed to it,
and she could just make out shapes and distances. The path wound and wound
along the bubbling stream, and Leal noticed that it was made of flat, well cut
stones down here, although covered with rotting leaves and slick with damp
moss.

“What is this place?” she asked in an awed whisper.
“This path was not made by animals.”

“No. This is an ancient, powerful site. One of the
places of the world where the barrier between here and—and the other side is,
how shall I put it ... softer. And there, where the path forks, that is your
fern, my dear.”

They had come to the place where the gorge was deepest
and darkest, and two walls of damp dripping rock stood on each side, shutting
out the sky. The walls were a gateway of sort: the stream went through them as
through a door at the end of a narrow dark corridor, and just under the brow of
this mighty portal the path forked in two. One lower branch followed the stream;
the other climbed up along the side of the cliff, in steep, high steps cut into
the rock. They were ancient, hollowed out by the passage of many feet, and yet
Leal guessed that nobody had climbed them in a long time. They were soft with
decaying leaves fallen over many seasons, and tufted with moss and tiny ferns.
In the steep space between the two branches of the path, growing back against
the cliff, so that the higher path disappeared behind its majestic arching leaves,
was the tallest, largest fern that Leal had ever seen. The faded stems of a
thousand old fronds formed a mighty trunk under the spread of the foliage,
which arched down over the lower path like a vast whispering vault.

The old magician and the young princess stood for a
long moment looking at the enormous tree-like creature, quite overcome by its
magnificence.

“What
is
that?” asked Leal finally.

Dee shrugged. “The ancient magicians of Escarra only
referred to it as the dragon-fern.
The
dragon-fern, mind, because only
one specimen was known for sure in the whole kingdom. This is it. It has been
here for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Time was when you might have
picked its fruit from down here. But as it grew, those who wished to go across
had to climb higher and higher along the cliff. The steps are still there to
this day.
For you, Leal.”

Leal studied the carved cliff and realized that there
was more than one set of steps. Higher paths had been carved more recently.
Each new staircase was less regular, as if, as the centuries passed and the
fern grew higher, fewer and fewer people had come down here, or worked to make
the place more accessible.

“Go now. There is not much moonlight left. You must
find the fruit. It may well be that the tree-fern grew higher than the highest
steps. You will have to climb. Do
not
hurt the tree, Leal, whatever you
do.”

Leal glanced at him in surprise, but before she could
ask anything he gestured impatiently towards the steps, and she went and began
to climb.

The very first few steps were fine and well cut, but
Leal always chose those that forked out to the right and up, and she was soon
hanging on to mere hand-and-footholds, which she had to find by touch on the damp,
overgrown cliff-face. Sometimes water dripped in and around them, or in her
eyes, as she searched the next step. When she came her slanting way to the fern
trunk she was still a long way down from the arching fronds overhead. She
looked down.

It was a mistake.

At this point the bottom of the gorge was seven or
eight yards down. It was not a sheer drop, since even here the cliff was not
quite vertical, but falling would definitely be definitely unpleasant.
 
She swallowed, considered the fern’s trunk,
which was leaning almost two yards away from the wall
.

Bloody Ancients! They might have built a ladder, or
used a rope
. She knew it was no use complaining
and that no ladder or rope would have lasted for such a long stretch of time in
this lush damp atmosphere, but even so, it was a damn impractical way to get
into a tree top.

Come on,
she
thought,
Daria would not hang here like a bloody spider on a wall. She would
look at the tree, gauge the distance and jump. Oh, I wish I was half as crazy
as she is.

She gauged the distance.

She took a breath.

She jumped.

She jumped way too hard, in an awkward convulsive
jerk, and landed heavily against the spiky trunk. The blow almost made her
fall, but somehow she clung on. The mighty trunk barely shivered, but she heard
a strange slithering sound from overhead, like of uncoiling snakes, and for a
long moment she froze in panic.

“Do you wish for a pillow and blanket to be sent up
there, princess?”
came
Dee’s voice from below, and
Leal sighed, bit back a sharp retort, and climbed up. This was easy, since the stiff,
thick stumps of old leaves stuck up in every direction from the core of the
trunk, but it was a scratchy job. By the time she reached the spreading head of
the tree the front of her jerkin was scraped and ripped in half a dozen places.
Finally, she writhed among the enormous spreading midribs of the palm-like
lofty nest of the fern’s heart.

And here she stared, lost in wonder.

Like all ferns’, the dragon-fern’s new leaves were
coiled in tight spirals, rising from the center of the tree. But unlike other
ferns, these were very obviously alive in a sentient, animal way, and waved
this way and that, quivering, curling,
whispering
.
Could the fern be alarmed by her presence? She thought of what Dee had said.
Do
not hurt the tree, whatever you do
.

“I don’t mean you any harm, my dear,” she said in a
soft whisper. She reached gently to the nearest coil, and barely stroked it
with the back of her fingers. The tree stood very still, all the leaves and
curls poised. She slowly stretched her hand to the next coil and caressed it
more fully. Slowly, very slowly, more tight curling shoots rose from the center
of the tree, and there, among the slithering scaly greenery, hung a single
glistening fruit, like a pale blue-grey apricot, silky, and damp with dew.

“I need to take this, now. Please do not be angry with
me. I need it so badly. Will you let me take it, now?” She spoke softly,
somewhat at random, merely minding her tone, like one speaks to a shy horse.

The tree slowly
relaxed
. Its scaly heart opened
to her. She gradually reached for the fruit. Her hand closed on it. She gently
twisted, and pulled.

The fern shook all over, like a tree in a gale wind,
and the spirals sprung back into a scaly knot as she fell backwards into the
void.

She landed miraculously on her feet, on centuries of
rotting faded leaves, piled deep over the sloping foot of the cliff. She slid
down, tumbled over the fern-grown path and fell into the stream.

“Ow!” she said, kneeling on all fours in the shallow
water.

“All in one piece there?” asked Dee scrambling down
the stony bank and striding in the stream to help her up.

“I think,” said Leal.

“You have the fruit?”

“Yeah, I have the bloody fruit. Miracle I did not drop
it in the river. You might have warned me that devilish tree was alive!”

“All trees are alive, Leal.”

“Damn you. You know what I mean. The thing shook me
off!”

“Ah, yes. I thought it might do something like that,
but I was not certain. The references to the dragon-fern and indeed to the
whole Fading business in the old scrolls are somewhat enigmatic. Half of my
knowledge is guesswork.
Informed
guesswork, of course, but...”

“I get it. Let’s get on with this Fading business. Any
informed guess on how to proceed from here?” asked Leal testily.

Dee nodded, pulling her up the bank and back onto the
path. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“Just over the edge of the gorge.
There will be ... ah, there!”

In a few yards, they stepped through the natural stone
portal where the stream rushed out of the ravine, and the most lovely, serene
sight met their eyes.

They were in a much more open but still confined vale,
wooded all the way up the sides. But in the middle the stream had formed a
narrow limpid lake. The banks were soft and overgrown with reeds, except at the
place where they stood, where the path descended to a sort of flat stone jetty.
Where the jetty ended, half a dozen stepping stones prolonged the line of the
path a bit further still, right in the direction of a little wooded island in
the middle of the lake.

“That,” said Dee reverently, “is the place where the
Fading rituals were performed, centuries ago. There is no record of anybody
attempting the passage for hundreds of years. Even before the demise of the
last true-gifted Magician in Escarra, more than three hundred years ago, the
Fading was somewhat outside our line of magic. Only our hedge wizards and
witches preserved that kind of approach to the elements, and they were
considered crackpots even by the most benevolent members of the Order. However,
until no more than one hundred years ago this place was still known to a few.
People who wished to talk with the Faded could access the proper frame of mind
here. Other just came on a sort of pilgrimage even after the Faded had passed
out of all local knowledge and legend.”

“Do
you
not think that the hedge wizards were
cracked pots?”

Dee shrugged.

“They might have been.
Or not.
The fact remains that the Order lost any real magical powers shortly after the
Red War. The further away they moved from natural magic, the more difficult it
was to complete the enchantments. The five great Battle Spells of the Red War
were the last significant achievements of the Order. After that it all became
formulas and diagrams and theories, and the true spark was lost. It may be that
magic was never intended to be bent to shape as the Order did. It might well be
that what they called—with some contempt—natural magic, has more power and more
permanence. I hope so. I hope so indeed. Well. There must have been a boat here
once. Long gone. You can swim, however, yes?”

“Er, yes. Must I swim to the island, then?”

“From what I gather from the scrolls, you must eat the
fruit of the fern, swallowing all of it, including the seed. But you must
not
chew the seed or crush it. It must be swallowed whole. And as soon as this is
done you must set out for the island. The timing seems to be of some
importance. First eat, then ferry to the island.”

“Well, all right. But listen, this thing will not make
me Fade, will it? I mean I am not really that tired of the hassle and strife,
as you once put it. I don’t want to leave the burden on Amata. I mean to
fight.”

Dee smiled.

“Oh gods, no.
The
fruit alone will only open your mind to their channels of communication. The
full Fading ritual is vastly more demanding, requiring fasting to the edge of
death before the fern seed is taken and a bunch of other things. No, you’ll be
safe from Fading, don’t worry.”

“Uhm.
And...”

“Heaven, Leal, what else?”

“Well, you are a magician, and all. Why are not
you
trying to talk to them? I thought it would be terribly interesting for you.”

“Indeed it would. But it is said that only a pure
spirit can approach them. And I am not as pure as all that.”

“Uhm, listen, how do you mean, pure?”

“Why are you asking, princess?”

“Ah, uhm, well, you know...”

Dee observed her quite intently for a little while, and
then he sighed.

“I will only say that I do not think carnal purity was
the meaning of it. That hardly matters at all on this plane of things. It is more
a matter of ... let us say, cosmic harmony. I doubt you can have done anything
to endanger that.”

“Have you?” asked Leal, both relieved and curious.

“As a member of my Order, you could say that I have
tried hard enough. War magic is not something that ever appealed to the Faded,
and my Order’s almost sole purpose was to bend magic to belligerent uses. The
fact that I failed to achieve a single live spell does not mean that I would be
forgiven for trying. And last but not least, if Kjetil Alversen Hawkeneye is
over there, the appeal of a charming young princess is more likely to win his
assistance than that of a gristly old magician. That’s heroes for you. Come on,
you must go. The night is growing old.”