Mirror 04 The Way Between the Worlds (39 page)

clapping in time to the music. When it was over, everyone resumed their seats.
'Caranda?' Cluffer asked.
Karan shook her head and smiled, and without any visible
sign of regret Cluffer stoppered the bottle with a wooden bung and put it
away.
The Telt made more tea, using up the last of her small gift. She drank another
cup gratefully, for she felt cold now. It was quite late. The platter, urn,
cups and instruments were packed away. Cluffer took her hand and led her to
the sleeping chamber where everyone prepared for bed.
Karan felt a little stab of panic, remembering past nights there, freezing in
damp seaweed all alone. That was history. They took off their loincloths,
washed them in the sea and hung them up to dry. Removing her wet trousers,
Karan did the same. They cleaned their teeth with seaweed. She rubbed a
leathery yellow frond over her own teeth. One of the Telt gestured to the
centre of the big pile of woven seaweed blankets, indicating that she was to
take the place of honour. She crept in, the weed tickling her skin, and they
all burrowed in after. The last one blew out the light.
Now she understood what they had meant by 'sharing warmth', for in the centre
it was beautifully warm and comforting, though the pungency of their oiled
hair was, to say the least, hard to get used to. The water lapped at the
slatted floor, the drink rose to her head and took her off to sleep.
Twice in the night Karan was woken by nightmares, once her familiar hideous
dream of the brain-sucking leech, the second time the nightmare of the army
being led to its doom over the cliff while she tried and failed to scream out
a warning. Each time she was embraced by a dozen arms, and a multitude of
hands stroked away the fear, the guilt and the powerlessness. Karan soon found
herself drifting back into a lovely, carefree sleep.
Later she woke, lying quietly in the dark. It was a long time before she could
get back to sleep. The bed was like a nest of grubs, always shifting, and
every movement made the weed rustle. When the people on the outside grew cold
they would wriggle into whatever inside spot presented itself;
the group shifted to accommodate them and all would settle down again.
And sometimes there were other noises, whispers and giggles, though now she
knew them for what they were, no longer afraid that they were secretly
laughing at her. They moved all around her, breasts and knees and legs and
noses, while soft hands crept across her skin. She lay there dreamily, touched
by silky fire, making no protest even when they touched places that she would
not normally have permitted. But she made no offers, and after a while the
hands went away again.
In the morning Karan woke feeling calmer and more relaxed than she had been in
months. Thanking her hosts, she donned her clothes again. But before she went
they must give her a gift. They brought carvings to her, a selection of their
best, and begged her to choose one. She chose a tiny, beautiful thing, a
laughing child playing with a toy crab. It made her feel quite sentimental,
quite sad for what she would never have.
But such a gift required an equal gift, and she had only one object the equal
of theirs. Her prized knife, which Malien had given to replace the one she'd
lost in Katazza. It was also a beautiful thing, made of the finest Aachim
steel. She offered it, and they accepted it with laughter, hugs and tears.
Then she hurried away, suddenly realising that Llian would be worried about
her.
Back in her own room, Karan understood what she had gained from them. The Telt
always supported each other, and comforted each other too. She remembered how
they had stood up for her last year when the Hlune had wanted to cast her onto
the streets. She could not imagine them refusing to act for fear of the
consequences. She must do the same. Karan felt an overwhelming relief at
having made this decision after so long.
After that she was purged of her fears, if not of her failures, and those
nightmares did not trouble her again.
A Time of Choices

The fortress was in uproar from the assassination attempt. The guards on the
gate had been doubled and would not let Karan in without her pass, which she
had thrown away weeks ago. She headed down to the citadel, where she
encountered the same problem because of the theft from Llian's room.
Fortunately Tallia was passing at that moment and signed her in. Karan ran
down to Llian's workroom to find that it was full of people. Mendark was
there, furious at the breach of security, and more so at the loss of Yalkara's
book. He had brought a brace of archivists, who were going through Llian's
papers, to his fury. Yggur was there too. The attack on Mai-graith had shaken
him out of his all-pervading despair. Maigraith stood by the window looking
out, apparently none the worse for her ordeal, though she seemed tired.
'This is a shocking blow,' said Mendark, limping back and forth. 'A shocking
blow!' The loss of the book seemed to bother him more than the attack on
Maigraith.
Just like him! Karan thought.
A messenger ran in to whisper in Mendark's ear. His face fell even further.
'Have all the ashes brought to me!' The fellow ran out. 'The thief has been
tracked to her room,' Mendark announced, 'but she is dead and, tragically, the
book burnt. A catastrophe!'
'Her name was Ellami,' said Maigraith, burying her head in her arms. 'I knew
her from childhood. I can hardly believe Ellami tried to kill me.'
'Faelamor must have a low opinion of us. She'll try again. Be on your guard!'
Mendark shook his head. 'I had such hopes for the book.'
'Well,' said Llian, taking it all very calmly, 'none of us had been able to
decipher a single glyph, and I don't think I ever would have.'
'Useless chronicler!' cried Mendark, stamping off. The archivists, Yggur and
Tallia followed him, leaving only Karan, Llian and Maigraith in the room.
'What was this book?' asked Maigraith, who had arrived just before Karan.
Llian explained.
Maigraith let out a choking gasp. 'But that was my book! Yalkara told me so,
in the message she left on the Mirror.'
'What message?' Llian asked curiously.
'I've not told anyone but Shand. The book contained the first Histories of the
Charon, from the time they went into the void, and even before. It was
infinitely precious.' There were tears in her eyes.
'Come on,' Llian said hastily. 'I can't bear this place any longer.'
They walked down to a park which was empty on account of the miserable
weather. Llian's limp was practically gone now, though his legs would be
scarred forever. He wiped the stone bench with his cloak and sat down.
Karan sat beside him, watching Maigraith pace back and forth through the mud.
'What's going on, Llian? You're up to something. Maigraith, come here!'
As Maigraith sat down, Llian burst out laughing. T still have the book,' he
said in a low voice. 'It's here in my bag.'
'What - ?' Maigraith said.
'Well,' he flashed his famous smile, 'one time Lilis had nothing to do and
wanted to practise her writing, so I set
her to copying Yalkara's book. It was the copy that was stolen. I always carry
the original with me, as I do my journals. They're all here.'
Opening his shoulder bag, he handed her a slender volume. 'No one knows
there's a copy, except Lilis, and she's off with her father. I'll swear her to
silence when she gets back.'
Maigraith took the book as if it was the most precious object in the world.
She caressed the cover and laid it against her cheek. 'I can't think of any
way to thank you,' she said. Opening the book, she stared at the glyphs on the
first page. 'These are the mirror image of the ones on the Mirror of Aachan. I
wonder why?'
'I have no idea,' said Llian.
'Perhaps we can work on it together, if I can find the key.' She stood up,
slipped the book into her bag, gave a secret smile and turned away. Then she
came back, giving Llian a self-conscious hug. 'Thank you, Llian. After last

night I have some rather urgent things to think about. I'll see you tomorrow.'
Look upon the Mirror, and it will show you what you must do.
But what must I do, Maigraith agonised as she went back to her room. Mendark
and Yggur assumed that her destiny was to wage war against Rulke, but surely
Yalkara had never intended that. Where should her allegiance lie? With the
interests of these people, this world? The Three Worlds? With Rulke and the
Charon? The conflicts were irresolvable.
Was the birthright intended to be melted down and made into a device to create
gates? Yalkara may not have intended any such thing. And if they did make a
new golden flute, just learning how to use it could be a perilous exercise.
How was she supposed to restore the balance between the worlds anyway?
Maigraith, used to being told what to do, found her choices overwhelming. In
some ways Faelamor's legacy still crippled her.
The Mirror will teach you when the time comes.
She opened the Mirror, recovered Yalkara's message to Aeolior and sat quietly,
reading the words over and over. Why was part of the message missing? Had it
been lost over the years, or was the Mirror hiding something?
Why won't you tell me? she thought tiredly. How I need you, Yalkara. This is
all too hard. Maigraith laid her head down on her arms, resting her cheek on
the cold surface of the Mirror, and drifted into sleep.
Her dreams were not restful. She kept seeing Ellami creeping up on her with
that hooked blade, but Maigraith was a child again and could only watch
helplessly from her bed as the knife plunged at her.
The dream repeated about twenty times before Maigraith sank into a restful
sleep. Suddenly she was jerked awake by a blinding glare, as if the sun shone
in her eyes. She lifted her head, trying to see.
The Mirror was ablaze with light; a molten sun shone out of it. The blaze
faded, revealing a green and golden land, a paradise of lake and forest,
mountain and lush meadows. The viewpoint rushed towards the lake, highlighting
a pavilion on its shore, carved from white marble. A woman sat by the edge,
her long back resting against a five-sided column. She was tall and languid,
with black hair that hid her face. Her attitude was melancholy. The fingers of
one hand trailed in the water.
The lake was as still as metal, but as Maigraith watched, a breeze ruffled the
surface and something appeared beneath it, like a black, reflecting teardrop.
The ripples died away and the woman rose, staring down into the water. The
teardrop cleared. Inside Maigraith saw something struggling to get out. She
caught her breath. A young man was trapped there, a handsome, broad-shouldered
fellow with curly dark hair.
He clawed desperately at the walls of his prison, his mouth gaping wide. The
woman stared, helpless to do anything. She cried out to him but the words
could not be heard. She looked around frantically for something to break that
prison,
and Maigraith saw that the woman was Yalkara, in the flower of her youth.
She let out a wail of anguish, and Maigraith read the word from her lips.
'Gyllias!'
The man was a younger version of Shand. Maigraith groaned aloud, for Shand was
as much trapped in his teardrop world as Yalkara was in her Eden. There must
be a way to bring them together.
Yalkara held out her hands to Shand, showing her helplessness. Caught up in
their torment, Maigraith realised that there was a way to release them - the
golden flute! The Mirror had shown her the path at last.
'I will give up my gold,' she said aloud. 'But I will not allow the flute to
be used against Rulke.' Then she slept.
In the morning Maigraith walked into the council of despair and dropped her
jewelry on the table in front of an astonished Mendark.
'Here is Yalkara's own gold, Aeolior's birthright and now mine,' she said.
'You may use it to remake the flute.'
There was a long silence.
'How did you get it back?' cried Mendark. He gave Shand a suspicious glare.

Shand smiled innocently.
'This isn't the gold that Faelamor stole,' said Maigraith. 'This is Yalkara's
own gold.'
'Then where did the other come from?' asked Yggur.
Maigraith shrugged. 'I have no idea.'
'Shand?' cried Mendark in a rage.
'I don't know either,' Shand replied.
'We'd better find out,' said Yggur, staring down at the jewelry. 'I don't like
this at all. Where the hell is Llian? Maigraith?'
'Yes?'
'What condition do you put on your gold?'
Every eye turned to her. 'I cannot give away my birthright. What is made of it
remains mine.'
Mendark looked ready to protest but must have thought better of it. 'Let's see
if we can make it first,1 he said, lowering his snake eyes. 'Then will be time
enough to decide who may use it. Indeed, who can use it.'
'Thank you for the offer, Maigraith,' Yggur said gravely. 'Though I don't know
that we should accept it - '
'I accept it!' roared Mendark, holding the shining gold high in the air.
Sitting down at the table, Maigraith put her head in her hands, already afraid
that she had made a stupid decision. She was seized by the feeling that
Yalkara would not be happy after all.
Mendark rubbed his scaling hands together, calling loudly for an aide, and
when the man came running he told him to fetch the Aachim at once.
'Are they back from overseas?' Karan asked.
'Their boat docked yesterday morning,' said Tallia.
It was quite some time before they appeared, six of them. Tensor looked worse
than ever. The once glorious black hair lay like a rug over the top of his
head. His lips were grey as slate. Malien looked older and more resolute.
Xarah was there too, fully recovered from her wound at Carcharon.
'Maigraith has brought us Yalkara's true gold,' said Men-dark. 'Now it's your
turn, Tensor. Will you show us how to make the golden flute anew?'
'Maigraith the Charon!' said Tensor bitterly. 'It's Aachan gold, stolen from
us!' He peered at Maigraith and shuddered, then his eyes drifted around the
room to settle on Karan. They flickered at her. She went to his chair.
'Is it still your wish that I help you?' he asked in a spidery voice that only
she could hear. On the trek back across the Dry Sea from Katazza he had
promised her that.
'I want nothing for myself,' she replied. 'I would be back in Gothryme,
tending my gardens.'
He blessed her with a ghostly smile. 'Then you've learned more than I ever
did. What do you ask of me?'
She was reluctant to ask him anything. 'Do you think that this is such a great
crime, to remake the flute? Is it a wickedness, or a folly?'
He grimaced. His mouth was so dry that it might have been carved out of teak.
He touched her cheek. 'It's no crime to defend yourself, or to strike your
enemy before he strikes you. It may be folly - that's what we call the bold
schemes that fail.'
'Does it give us a chance?'
'No one can predict the outcome to this struggle. I care not, either way. My
time is past. The decision is in your hands.'
'Why is it up to me to decide? Everything I do goes wrong.'
Tensor's eyes never left her face. 'Because that is my price,' he said at
last. 'Karan, as many terrible wrongs come from doing nothing as from doing
the wrong thing.'
She knew he was right. The doubt was there, the agony of choice, but she had
made her decision.
'I ask it,' she whispered.
'Then I will do it.'
His grip, once so strong, felt like a loose collection of bones. He clung on