A Shadow on the Glass (8 page)

“Can we at least have some wine?” Karan pleaded as they passed a wine seller, a prosperous-looking establishment whose front wall was faced with obsidian.

“I have no need of wine,” said Maigraith.

Karan wasn’t going to give in this time. “I have no
need
of it either, but I’d like to have some.” She drew rein outside, feeling in her scrip for the few small coins she had brought. “I’ll buy it with my own money, if you can’t afford it,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.

Maigraith made a face. “If it makes you happy,” she said. “Wait here!”

Karan loved browsing and tasting in wine shops, but her companion had taken all the joy out of it. She sat fuming on the step while Maigraith went inside, to return almost instantly with a skin of wine the size of a watermelon. She tied it to Karan’s saddle without a word and climbed onto her horse.

Before they left Sith, Maigraith took Karan to a nondescript doorway in a street of no particular distinction. “If anything goes wrong you will bring the relic to Faichand, here.” Then they rode away, crossing the south branch of the Garr via a bridge with twenty stone arches and a soaring central arch of iron, painted red.

On the other side they headed south-east along the High Way that led first to the coast of the Sea of Thurkad at Vilikshathûr, a dingy coastal town that they bypassed, and thence south through more than twenty leagues of forest to the Zarqa Gap. Here they crossed the much-diminished mountains and turned west across unending grassy plains toward the forests of Orist.

Karan was almost screaming with frustration by this time, for Maigraith would answer none of her questions about the mission, or about the relic that they were going so far to recover, or even how she proposed to get into Fiz Gorgo under the noses of Yggur’s ever-vigilant guards.

“But there are things I need to know,” Karan said one evening, after they had been on the road for more than two weeks. She kicked a stick into the fire, sending hot coals showering out the other side.

Maigraith flicked an ember off her dinner plate. She was quite calm. “What you need to know I will tell you in good time.”

“So far you have told me nothing.”

“Therefore there is nothing that you need to know yet.”

Her logic was infuriating. Karan felt totally controlled and there was nothing that she could do about it. The money that she had brought with her would not have taken her a quarter of the way home.

As they continued, Karan sank deeper into depression. She felt as though the unshed tears were dissolving her from the inside out.

Finally even Maigraith realized that Karan’s misery was a problem for them both. “What is the matter with you?” she said the following night, after they had finished another tasteless dinner.

“I’m afraid and I’m lonely, and I’m unhappy too.”

“Duty is happiness, if it is done,” said Maigraith, as though she was reciting a formula.

Karan made no response to the absurd remark. Duty was just duty, one of the frames that held life together, and it broke as many people as it made. She turned her back on Maigraith, put her arms around her knees and stared into the dark forest, brooding about her out-of-control life. What
was she to do about Gothryme? What about her own existence?

The fee would pay her debts, but there would be no money left to repair the manor or improve her drought-stricken holding. Though Karan was clever and capable and hardworking, it was not enough. If the drought went on until the winter, she would have to sell the contents of the manor just to survive. And then what would happen the following year? To lose Gothryme, where her family had dwelt for a thousand years, would be like losing a leg.
There is no way out!

On the other side of the fire Maigraith suddenly jumped up. “What?” she cried, staring at Karan.

“I didn’t say anything. Leave me alone!”

Maigraith leapt right over the fire and hauled Karan to her feet.

“You were
broadcasting,”
she accused. “What are you talking about?” said Karan, trying vainly to get away.

“You were sending out your emotions in all directions. That is a very dangerous thing to do. I don’t know how you have survived it.”

“Oh!” Karan said, trying to work out what she had done.

“You should know better.”

“I do! I learned to hide my nature before I could walk. I don’t know why I let it slip here. Perhaps because you make me feel so unhappy.”

Having said it, Karan felt even worse. She went over to her saddlebags and came back with the skin of wine purchased in Sith but not yet touched. She hoped mat Maigraith had not bought rubbish.

It only took the tiniest sip to discover that she had not. It was a glorious wine, almost purple-black in color. Karan
squeezed herself a mug full, since the skin was too heavy to hold up. She leaned back against a tree, sipping slowly.

“I make you unhappy?” Maigraith was amazed.

“This journey has been one of the most miserable times of my life. All you do is criticize and order me about, and treat me like an idiot.”

“I’m sorry,” said Maigraith. “That’s what I’m used to.”

Maigraith filled her own mug to the brim, hung the wineskin in the fork of the tree, and sat down beside Karan. She had realized that she must ease Karan out of this dangerous depression.

They sat together, not talking, just drinking, though shortly Karan felt tipsy and put her mug down. The wine, however, seemed to have no effect on Maigraith’s rigid self-control.

Suddenly Karan’s good nature reasserted itself. “Tell me about your life,” she said. She knew virtually nothing about her companion, even after all this time.

“What is there to tell? I have no mother and no father. I don’t know who I am or where I came from.”

“I am an orphan too,” said Karan. “My father was killed when I was eight. I ask myself why all the time. And soon after, my mother went mad and took her own life.”

“At least you had eight years,” Maigraith said bitterly. “At least you remember them! I might have been spawned in a pond for all I know.” She refilled her mug, drank it down in one huge swallow and took another.

Karan went very still and Maigraith understood that she had been rudely dismissive of her tragedy. “Who were they, Karan?” she asked, as kindly as she was capable of.

“My mother was a Fyrn, who have lived at Gothryme for a thousand years. I got my name and my inheritance from her. My father was Aachim!”

Maigraith started. “Aachim!” She said it as though the name meant trouble.

“Well, half-Aachim actually. His mother was Aachim but his father was old human.”

“You are a blending?”

“Don’t shrink from me like that, I’m not a monster.”

“I’m just surprised, that’s all,” said Maigraith.

“Where did you think my talent came from?”

“Talents come from all sorts of places.”

Maigraith reached up for another mug. So that is what Faichand is afraid of, she said to herself. The unpredictable talents of the blending. Does Karan even know what she can do?

“Aachan has fascinated me since I first heard my father’s tales,” said Karan dreamily. She imitated his mournful mode of telling.

“Our world was Aachan, a dark, cold, barren place, but it was all we had, and we loved it. No people ever worked harder or wrought more cunningly, and in time we made it blossom. Every city, every structure, every garden, every device we made was a thing of beauty. Our art and our craft were our life. Then the Charon took our world; still we wrought but no more for ourselves.

“We never broke that slavery. Only those of us that came to Santhenar ever regained our freedom. Here came our renascence—we built our beautiful cities across the world, and our art was never more perfect.

“But we are destined to suffer. Again we were betrayed by the Charon and our cities and works destroyed. Now we live in the past, and for the past, and take no part in the affairs of Santhenar evermore.

“Such a sad life they had, on their own world and here,” Karan added. “They see their destiny as beyond their control.”

“So do I,” said Maigraith, filling her mug again. She changed the subject. “About your broadcasting,” she said gently. “I want you to think about what you were doing. Learn to control it. It is a great gift if you can use it well.”

“I’m afraid,” said Karan. “Who else knows that I am sensitive?” At least one other person did—Llian the chronicler. How many people had he told about her?

“Maybe no one. It just happens that I can tell people with your talents.”

Karan sat up suddenly and took Maigraith’s hand. “How so? Are you a sensitive too?” Karan knew no one who was like her. The prospect of a soul-mate was exhilarating, even if it was Maigraith.

Maigraith laughed. “More correct to say that I am an
insensitive,”
she said, then looked momentarily surprised that she had made a joke. She drained her mug and got up to refill it. A trickle of blood-dark wine made its way down her chin unnoticed.

“You were telling me about your own life,” Karan reminded her.

“Both my parents died when I was born, and I don’t even know their names. All I know is that I was a terrible disgrace.”

Her voice broke. Maigraith swayed, dropping the wineskin. Red wine spurted, forming a glowing arch in the firelight before hissing down on a hot stone. She giggled and fell off the log. Karan helped her up. The wine had suddenly hit Maigraith; she was quite drunk. She threw her arms around Karan. Tears flooded down her cheeks.

“Oh, Karan, you can’t imagine how much I long to know who I am and where I came from. All I know is that, after my parents died, Faelamor took me in when no one else would have me.”

Karan’s hair stood on end.

Maigraith went on, oblivious to what she had said. “And I am not even her
species
. No one in the world cared for me, save for her. Despite my shame she raised me and gave me the best education that anyone ever had. I can never love her, for she is too harsh; too unyielding; too closed-off. Faelamor is an impossibly hard mistress. Nothing ever satisfies her. But how can I not try? I owe her more than I can ever repay.”

Karan was so shaken by Maigraith’s drunken revelation that she did not even hear the rest of the story. So Faichand was
Faelamor
, the mythical leader of the Faellem people! She was mentioned in all the tales, but there had been no word of her in hundreds of years.

Shortly after that Maigraith subsided gracefully onto the ground, closed her eyes and fell asleep. Karan threw a blanket over her and went to her own sleeping pouch, though sleep was a long time coming. She was caught up in the affairs of the mighty, Faelamor and Yggur, to whom ordinary people mattered no more than counters on a board. How could she protect herself? It got worse every time she thought about it.

Maigraith woke with the bright sun in her eyes. She jerked upright and such a pain speared through her temples that she cried out.

“What’s the matter?” Karan said sleepily. “I’m sick,” Maigraith croaked. “Oh, my head.” “You got tremendously drunk last night,” Karan said, amused.

“Are you all right?”

“I only drank a little and had lots of water after.”

“Ohhh!” Maigraith groaned, coming to hands and knees.

“I feel as though there’s something I should remember.”

Karan sat up, but she did not say anything.

“I remember! You are part-Aachim.” Maigraith shook her head, then winced. The Aachim were inseparably bound up with the relic that she was planning to steal out of Fiz Gorgo. She had not told Karan what it was, but now realized that there would be trouble when she did. It was too late to do anything about it.

The mission had been doomed before it began. For all Karan’s talents, her cleverness and capability, she was the wrong choice for the job; she was too much a sensitive. Better to cast her off and go alone. If only I could, Maigraith thought, but duty goes both ways.

“What’s the matter?” Karan asked, breaking into her thoughts. “You seem worried.”

“Worried!” Maigraith barked. “My life, my work, my impossible mission, who I am, what I am here for—it’s all a disaster.”

“I would help you if I could,” said Karan tentatively, afraid of a rebuff. “We could—even be friends, if you did not keep pushing me away.”

“I have never had a friend,” said Maigraith. “Faichand never allowed it, lest it hinder me from serving her.”

“How can she stop you?”

“Duty stops me. I owe her everything. My debt is so great that it can never be paid. She tells me so, constantly.”

This gave Karan a new insight into her companion’s obsessive nature. No longer did she feel so dominated by Maigraith. She pitied her, and longed to do something to help her.

“You must be so very lonely. I would be happy to be your friend.”

Maigraith went quite still. She looked down at the ground then up at Karan. The offer made her afraid. “Thank you,” she said. “You are kind and generous and warm-hearted; everything that I could wish for in a friend. Everything that
I am not. But it is futile to long for what I cannot have, and dangerous for us both.” She got up and headed toward the forest.