The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (45 page)

‘She can sense Siulents?’

Morghien ignored Isak’s scepticism. ‘She is, I think, scared to tell me how. She said that Siulents is like a giant beacon, shining out through the Land when she sleeps, but that your dreams are guarded too well to let her enter them. She hopes that by telling you this, you would perhaps open yourself up to her.’

‘I’ll need more reason than that. Continue.’

‘She’s Yeetatchen, I think, though I have never been there: her skin is as brown as a hazelnut. Xeliath is young, perhaps as little as fifteen winters.’

‘What does she want with me?’

‘I believe she wants only to help you. She persuaded me that I should too.’

‘How? What help do you think I need?’ Finally Isak lowered his sword, satisfied that the man neither could nor would do anything to harm him. Isak looked a little deeper into Morghien, feeling an unusual mix of power within the man. His strength was curious, unlike anything Isak had seen before, but it was not great enough to concern him.

‘Preparation for troubles ahead, Xeliath said.’ At Isak’s expression Morghien raised a hand and continued hurriedly, ‘She has not told me everything, and though I think I understand what she meant, telling you might make matters worse.’

‘Worse? I’ve still half a mind to kill you so what will be worse than that?’

‘You having less than half a mind,’ replied Morghien simply.

Isak opened his mouth to respond and then saw the stranger’s expression. He was being deadly serious, even if he was as insane as he sounded. The white-eye looked back to the rest of his party, then walked over to the moss-draped form of a fallen tree, indicating that Morghien should follow. He straddled the trunk and sat down, facing his companions so Morghien had to sit with his back to them. He pulled off the silken hood and ran a gauntleted hand over his cropped scalp. The cool whisper of silver on skin sounded like the breathing of wind through the trees.

‘You want to help me, and you want me to trust you, without knowing what’s going on?’

‘It is a matter of destiny, and a man learns his fate at his own risk.’ Morghien shrugged.

‘Damn my fate,’ Isak snapped back, ‘I don’t believe the future is fixed—’

‘And it is not,’ interrupted Morghien firmly. ‘Which is why you cannot know what I mean. Xeliath is some sort of prophet or oracle, but it doesn’t take a prophet to know that a white-eye isn’t going to follow his fate willingly. Whether knowingly or not, you’ll fight against any outside forces in your life; it is what you are. But you can perhaps be prepared for what is to come.’

Isak hardly noticed that he had bitten his lip. ‘What do you propose?’

‘Xeliath thinks herself your guardian spirit. She told me, “His armour may keep his body alive, but I must watch over his soul.” It is clear that the threats to you are greater than you know.’

‘I have enough enemies, I think,’ said Isak bitterly.

Morghien ignored him and continued, ‘Xeliath has seen your death in the future and hopes to avoid it. To that end, she has asked me to help.’

‘What can you teach me?’ Isak snorted at the idea. ‘You don’t look much of a swordsman to me.’

‘Indeed I am not. But your death is one of the mind, not the body. If you are to be attacked in the mind, then perhaps I can be of use.’

‘Why you?’

‘Because, as your man back there will tell you, I am possessed.’

A cough of laughter escaped Isak’s lips, but it died as soon as he saw nothing but the truth in the man’s face. ‘You’re serious?’

‘Completely serious. I’m not inhabited by a daemon, and the possession was voluntary, but yes. Remember what your man called me?’

‘The man of spirits? Something like that?’ Isak fought the urge to stand up and step back from this madman. His hand tightened for a moment around the hilt of his sheathed sword.

Morghien caught the movement and a smile of understanding crossed his lips. ‘The man of many spirits. Perhaps now is not the time, for my story is a long one, but the short answer is that I took pity on a local Aspect of Vasle. Her stream was going to be dammed, and when the water stopped flowing she would have faded to just a voice on the wind. I offered what I had out of compassion. When the last of the water stopped flowing, she entered my soul. The others - well, they were similar stories. I have a generous heart.’

‘Mihn looked like he thought you were dangerous.’

‘Me? No, not I, but one of those within is a Finntrail, that’s true enough.’

‘And that is?’

Morghien smiled uncertainly. Obviously his choices in life had made him an outcast. Trusting his secrets to strangers was not a comfortable thing to do. Isak could sympathise there.

‘I—Ah, well, the Finntrail are a sort of ghost, I suppose. Not the ghost of a human, but something older. I don’t know exactly what they are, for they cannot remember. What could have happened to Seliasei did, I suspect, happen to the Finntrail. They are only shadows of whatever they used to be, but to retain even that much means they must have been very powerful.’

‘And they are dangerous?’

Morghien looked thoughtful for a moment, searching for the right word. ‘They are angry, perhaps that’s the best description. As long as they are capable of anger they exist as more than just a faint echo; it sustains them, whatever else it does. But, they are all subservient to me; even the Finntrail has accepted my dominance. The sensation of being alive again more than makes up for that.’

‘So what do you propose? I’m not sure I want to know how you can help me with some vicious little shade running around in your head.’

‘Call it a new experience. Trust me, it will hurt me more than you - there’s no doubt of that. I don’t pretend to be able to read those runes on your armour, but Seliasei fears them. All I ask of you is that you hold back as much as you can - and perhaps put your sword out of immediate reach.’

Isak stared at him for a moment, suspicious again, but then he closed his eyes and opened his senses to the world. An awareness of the Land about him began to filter slowly into his mind and a spreading numbness flooded through his body, a cool breath of fresh damp leaves and moist earth. In only a few seconds he began to feel the gentle shape of the ground about him, the faint pinpricks of life from his companions, the curious medley of souls about Morghien that justified the strange name Mihn called him.

Isak smiled to himself as he experienced the peace of opening himself to the Land. From the comforting immovability of the earth beneath his feet to the vibrant swirl of air high above; all this took him away from the pulse of anger buried under his skin, however briefly.

‘I’ll trust you.’ He forced his eyelids open to disperse the dreamy contentment in his head. Drawing Eolis, he threw the weapon overarm and embedded it in a nearby elm. The silver blade drove a foot deep into the trunk and sat quivering, emitting a low hum. Even in the dull light of a cloudy morning, Eolis sparkled as if dusted in morning frost.

Satisfied that the blade was out of reach, Morghien took a moment to calm himself. Isak felt a pulse of something, maybe the Aspect’s concern at what was to come. Even a weak spirit would be aware of what it could lose.

‘I’m no scholar,’ Morghien began, ‘and I don’t pretend to understand much of spirits or daemons, for all that a friend in Narkang has tried to explain matters to me, but I can feel from the spirit’s point of view. The first thing you must learn, Lord Isak, is that they are not as powerful as people believe them to be.’

Isak’s focus returned somewhat at Morghien’s respectful use of his title. The man had felt just how strong he was; the mocking smile was gone and Morghien now looked like Kerin did on the training field. Isak reminded himself what that meant: just because he could kill Morghien with little effort said nothing about what he could learn from the man.

Morghien, unaware of Isak’s mental discussion, carried on, ‘Part of a spirit’s power derives from how it is perceived. The myths you learn, the fear and awe you experience when you encounter them - magic is a force in itself, and though different in every way to nature, it can still create a form of life ... perhaps existence is a better word.

‘So in the fashion that you and I are created from the same matter as the earth and trees, so Gods and daemons have a common source in magic.’

‘How is this helping?’ The mages from the College of Magic, in their attempts to educate the Krann, had not found fertile ground. They had made the mistake of telling him that theoretical understanding of magic would be of small use to a white-eye. Isak had taken that as a reason to pay no further attention.

Morghien’s look of irritation faded quickly as he remembered his ultimate goal. His brow furrowed as he sought a more appropriate explanation. ‘When you fight, there is more to know than stabbing a man, no?’

Isak shrugged and Morghien continued, ‘Of course there is - not only must you know your strokes, your stances and your weapons, you must also know your enemy and the Land around you. Now think of magic as this battle.

‘Your weapons and strokes might be spells or curses. They must be practised and refined so your crude swipes become deft cuts and concealed moves. Knowing your enemy - how his armour slows him or how great his reach is - is as important as knowing how the mud underfoot will slow you, whether you will slip on a particular stone, or can kick him off balance after he has struck.

‘You are aware of the slope of the Land, the rain coming down, his relative size and strength. These things you understand as naturally as you know how to chew and swallow, and as you must with magic. Magic has rules that follow their own sense - those that might ignore the warmth of the sun, but could be affected by moonlight—’

Isak held up a hand. ‘I’ve had these lessons already, I remember enough on the nature of magic. You’re starting to sound like those excitable lecturers.’

Morghien stared at him curiously. ‘You don’t find the nature of magic interesting at all?’

Isak shrugged again. Magic was intoxicating, exhilarating, to such a degree the rest of the Land faded away. Talking about it was less so. It was like discussing sex. Some people got excited enough about it to talk for hours on the subject. Isak could find no enthusiasm for just talking.

‘Well, I shall say no more then, other than you must remember they grow strong from illogical sources, that their image is often greater than their strength. There are some that are very powerful, but that is the same with men. You would not notice a man if he were not remarkable in size or strength or skill. But if that same man went berserk, he could cause a shocking amount of damage, and if he attacked a race that had never seen a man, he would terrify them.’

‘I think I understand what you mean. When I feel the presence of Nartis I’m paralysed ...’ Isak trailed off, unable to describe the sensation.

‘And that gives him strength over you. It is intentional - the Gods project a shining image because it inspires wonder. And the more you are awed, the more powerful they grow; not only over you, but part of what sustains them is belief and praise. Gods are made stronger by belief: that you see them as greater, and worship them accordingly. And that is one of the things that separates Gods from daemons.’

‘One of the things?’

‘That is not an encouraged topic of conversation. Considering some of the things I’ve had to do while hunting down followers of Azaer, I have no desire to be actively impious on top of anything else. King Emin will know men who will be happy to have those discussions. For now, you should accept that a daemon or ghost will try to terrify you, because then you open yourself to it and lend it strength.’

He raised his hands to his face and rubbed his palms over his cheeks, the rough skin rasping against his stubbled face. ‘I think it’s time for a practical demonstration.’

Isak stared in fascination, reaching out with his senses to feel the shape of what was happening to Morghien. The man started to hold up a hand to halt the Krann’s efforts, but it was not necessary: one look at Morghien’s features had been enough for Isak to draw back hurriedly and grasp the ghost of Eolis at his hilt.

The man had changed. Subtle weaves of magic had smoothed out the lines of his face, softening the ruddy colour of his cheeks and reducing the size of his nose. It was still Morghien, but Isak could see the features were now almost those of a woman.

His voice had altered too. ‘Keep your defences strong, don’t leave yourself open,’ Morghien said, but a musical note had entered his previously rough voice.

Isak felt his mouth dry as he tried to respond, but then he remembered Morghien’s words. With an effort he could see past the glamour to the man’s true features: and he was right, nothing had changed except for Isak’s perception. With a smile he dismissed the weaves of the projected image.

Morghien shrieked in pain. His hands flew to his face as though Isak had just slashed him with a knife. He threw himself off the log and crashed face-down on to the ground. Isak jumped to his feet in alarm and Mihn rushed over with Vesna and Carel close behind. He held up a hand to them.

‘No, get back - keep away from him. He didn’t attack me.’

They did not look impressed with the order, but they complied sullenly. Morghien remained on the ground as they moved away.

A tense silence fell. Isak could hear the keening of a hawk in the distance, and the skitter of dead leaves as a gust swept them up and settled a few on Morghien’s back, like the first effort to bury a man who was lying as still as a corpse.

At last he breathed out, sending a single leaf tumbling end over end. He took his hands away from his face with careful, deliberate movements and pushed himself up from the ground. His face was disturbingly pale and calm, all trace of the Aspect gone, though his cheek and eyebrow seemed to be trembling very slightly. Then he breathed again and the calm was abruptly broken as he gulped down air, his shoulders shaking with the effort.