The Hidden Coronet (26 page)

It was a globe, pale and smooth, bright with reflected light. The curve of its edge was perfect and breathtaking. It hung from nothing. He turned, looking for the others.

They were all around him; the Coronet of Moons, Agramon a little way out of line; impatiently he gave it the slightest nudge back into place and it drifted like a bubble. Raffi smiled.

“
It’s a sophisticated form of neural integrator
,” someone was saying, but he ignored that, knowing that the circle was smooth again, that he wore it like a Coronet, that the mingled lights were in proportion.

Now for the weather. But where was Anara?

Then he knew that he was the planet. He was the world. In his body were all the aches and agonies, the vortexes and storms; he searched for them and flexed them out, absorbed.

“
Not Solon!
” the wind protested, but he hushed it, smoothing the roaring waves on the beach. Someone was bleeding on the gold moons; he wiped them clean and put them back in the sky. Snow stopped falling into his eyes. Carefully he opened his hands and let the small flowers stir, the trees blossom in the cracks of his palms.

“
Bring me a present
!” a small voice wailed. So he rolled up winter and threw it away, unfolded a field of gold and spread it like an eiderdown over hills and valleys and mountains. “
What a joke,
” Marco laughed, from underneath.

And a thin, brown-haired man opened a door in a vortex and stepped out, the storm shriveling behind him. “The others will deal with the rest,” he said. “But you I need to warn. Give me your hand.”

Raffi held it out. Kest took it and turned it over. “Look at this.”

They were deep scars. Seven wounds in his own skin, seven deep pits. He stared at them in horror, at the poison seeping from them; then he gasped with pain, his hand still clutching Kest’s.

But the voice that spoke had a reptilian hiss. And it said:

“Raffi.”

His eyes snapped open.

The arena was cold and empty. A faint breeze drifted over the heaps of gold. On one of them the Margrave sprawled, looking at him.

Its long, jackal-snout was a profile of horror, the moons casting bizarre shadows of its sharp-eared head and dark coat.

“What do you want?” Raffi whispered.

It gave a lipless smile. “You know what. And I was so close! Solon even held the device in his hands, and it was your fault that I lost it. But then, I have learned about so many other things! The Crow! Since my dark creature met Galen at Halenden I have known my ancient enemy was back. Sarres, of course. And the Great Hoard. I’ll send a whole Watchforce to collect this. And now, I have you.”

Raffi shook his head. Terror was creeping over him like an eclipse. “No. No you don’t.”

The Margrave laughed, a harsh rattle. “You and I are linked, Raffi. Ever since you came into my room in your vision you have intrigued me. I learned more about you in those few seconds than you think. We are linked. I have rarely talked with a human soul like this since Kest came to plead with me in my prison.”

Its small eyes stared at him, the lids swiveling like a lizard’s. “I’m going to find you, Raffi. Bring you back to my room. I know you have hidden qualities; your master doesn’t value you enough. I’m sure you’ve often thought that.” Its tongue flickered in a sly grin.

“I need a companion and I have chosen you. You will be my apprentice.”

Raffi gazed at it in utter horror.

Beside him suddenly Carys came back, then Galen, stepping moodily out of the dark. On the ramparts the Sekoi tribes blurred out of nothingness and in the sky the moons came on like Maker-lights.

The Sekoi, tall and astonished, reached up for the Coronet and took it off, staring at the gold ring in amazement.

Only Solon sat on the pile of gold.

The Margrave left him. They almost saw it go, saw the absence creep into his eyes, saw him become in an instant a heartbroken, devastated old man, unable to look at Marco, unable to look at any of them, huddled up and sobbing.

Carys turned away. It was Galen who went and crouched before him.

“Leave me!” the old man moaned, hiding his face. “You see what I’ve done!” His eyes caught the knife handle; Galen moved in front of it

“It’s over,” he whispered. “The evil is gone from you.” Solon looked up, his eyes wide. “I couldn’t keep it out! Dear God, I couldn’t!” His cry was an agony of remorse; he looked imploringly around at them all, rocking with pain. “Three years, Galen. That was how long. Every day, every hour they tormented me. Never letting me sleep or think.” He gripped his hands together. “You can’t imagine how it was. On and on, lights and questions. I couldn’t eat. I forgot who I was. I forgot how to pray.”

“I know.” Galen held him firmly. “It’s over now. We’ll get you to Sarres.”

“And then he came! He explained how I could help him. He spoke softly, and I let him into my mind, Galen, I let him! I couldn’t bear it anymore, the filth, the pain, the darkness. I couldn’t even bear the smell of that room. I wanted him. He made me strong. He gave me power. In the end I was begging him to come.”

There was a bitter silence. Then Galen said harshly, “None of us can judge you until we have been through such a hell. But Mardoc’s Ring. All the things you told us. Were they true?”

“True. But he forced me to tell him. He found the ring and wore it, mocking me. I have betrayed everything I loved! And yet I would still do anything rather than go back to that cell!” Solon clutched his head in despair. Galen watched. When he asked the next question Raffi knew it had been an effort.

“And the child? The one you cured?”

“He did it.” The old man looked up, seeing Galen’s eyes close in despair. “He’s clever, much too clever for us. It’s over. He has all of us now.”

“Galen!” Carys’s voice was sharp. “Look at this.”

Above them, in the air, a door was forming. They stared up at it, Raffi gripping the beads at his neck in silent awe.

A narrow door, with a silver staircase that unfolded silently and smoothly like a ripple of light to the Sekoi’s feet, so that the creature jumped back in alarm.

They waited. No one came down. The door stayed shut.

Around the arena the Sekoi tribes watched in fascination. “Are the Makers here?” Carys asked. She felt a sudden panic, as if she wasn’t ready; she stared at the door as if Flain would open it and walk down. It sparked a sudden memory. “I forgot! He told me something else! He said, ‘Tell the keeper I’ll see him soon.’ ”

“It’s the portal.” Galen’s gaunt face was shadowed, his eyes dark with joy. “Remember? The console said the Coronet could make an emergency portal. This is it! A door to the world of the Makers!”

He gripped the handrail and for a moment Raffi thought he would race up and fling the door wide, the desire so keen in him that Raffi could feel it.

But he didn’t. He jumped down, hauled Solon to his feet, and put his scarred hands roughly on the rail. “You go,” he said.

“Me?” The Archkeeper was aghast. “I betrayed them! I’ve done evil, welcomed evil. I can’t face them!”

“We all have to face them.” Galen stepped back. “No one is turned away. This is your chance to make up for your weakness, Solon! Do it for Marco, for all of us. Get them to come! Tell them how much we need them, that the Unfinished Lands will still spread, that men’s faith has grown cold.”

Solon glanced at the others.

“No!” Carys crossed to Galen and faced him angrily. “It should be you! He’s weak, you said so yourself.”

“Weakness can hide strength.”

“Don’t give me that rubbish!” She glared up at him, but he wouldn’t look at her. “He betrayed us, Galen! You must hate him for that!”

Then he did look. “Not him. And the Crow has work still to do here.” For a moment the hardness of his eyes softened. “Don’t tempt me, Carys,” he whispered.

Shoving her aside he said to Solon, “Go quickly.”

The Archkeeper wiped his face. He took a small bronze ring off his finger and dropped it into Galen’s hand. “Choose a better Archkeeper,” he whispered, and turned and climbed the stairs as if each one was an effort of will. When he reached the top, the door slid open.

And for a second they glimpsed another world; a pale sky, green fields, a warm breeze that lifted Solon’s hair as he walked fearfully into it, fluttering his coat in a scent of alien leaves, lighting his face so that in the instant before he vanished he seemed young, laughed, held his hands out to someone, and Galen had taken two steps after him before the door closed and the light was gone and the staircase dissolved into moon-shimmer.

It was very quiet in the arena. The snow had stopped. In the black sky the moons hung, each in its appointed place. “I wish Marco could have seen that,” Carys muttered.

She bent and picked up a leaf that lay there and handed it to Galen. It was long and narrow, some sort of willow, Raffi thought. And alien.

“It seems to me,” the Sekoi purred, looking up at Agramon, “that I moved her.”

“It was me.” Carys threw the bow down.

“Me,” Raffi said.

“All of us.” The Sekoi stared at the Coronet. “How can I tell you how it felt? Like the joining of many stories, all at once.” It looked up, yellow eyes sharp. “The Karamax are coming down.”

“Will they let us go?” Carys asked.

It shrugged, laying the Coronet reverently between Kest’s hands. “It may be they will. Things have changed now.” Suddenly remembering, it took off its money belt and emptied a stream of coins onto the heap. They tinkled and rolled. “Though I fear all this must be moved to a more secret place.” It looked at Carys sidelong. “I have to say, Carys, that I have been wrong. I am sorry.”

She nodded. “So you should be. Mind you, at one point I suspected you.” She grinned at Raffi, who was pale and still. The Sekoi turned. “And you, Galen, don’t let the darkness fill your soul. Despite the deaths, we have achieved our aim.”

The Relic Master came forward. He put both hands down and gripped Kest’s coffin, and Raffi felt a sudden sickening jolt of terror.

“Galen!” he muttered.

The keeper’s face was harsh and set. “I swear,” he said, “by Kest and Flain and all the Makers. By all the Moons. By all the Books of the Order . . .”

“Galen, don’t!”

“. . . By all that I’ve ever believed—I swear the Crow will hunt the Margrave down into the deepest pit of hell for this.”

His fists clenched. “And when I find him there, I’ll kill him. Because of what he did to Solon. And for Marco.”

He turned, his hair glossy as a bird’s wing. “I swear it, Raffi. I will never forgive this.”

Raffi felt as if all his nightmares were drowning him. He looked at Carys.

She shrugged and picked up her bow.

“Be careful, Galen,” she said quietly. “I somehow think that may be just what he wants.”

The story concludes in

RELIC MASTER

Book 4:
THE MARGRAVE

I
think you should confide this fear to your master
, the tree said gently.

Raffi gave a sour laugh. “No point.”

He is, I admit, difficult to approach.
A small sparkbird, brilliantly red, fluttered among the branches; the tree rustled thoughtfully over Raffi’s head.
If he was one of my kind, he would be holly. Or dark firethorn that grows in the chasm of Zeail. Such a one is Galen.

Raffi nodded. He lay on his back in the dappled green light, eyes closed against the sun. The tree was a birch; young, and very curious.

Tell me where it takes you, this Deep Journey.

“It’s a vision.” Raffi sat up and gazed out hopelessly into the depths of the warm spring woodland. “It happens in your mind. The Litany says there are different stages—the Cosmic Tree, the Plain of Hunger.”

Hunger is a sensation?

“Emptiness. No food.”

Indeed.
The tree sounded fascinated.
Our roots are always storing. Rootless creatures, it seems to me, are most vulnerable. The Makers were wise, but sometimes we feel you were something of a failed experiment.

“And then,” Raffi said, half to himself, “comes something called the Barrier of Pain.”

The tree was silent. Finally it whispered,
You fear that.

He nodded. “And the last thing even more. To be a keeper every scholar must pass through utter darkness into something the books won’t even describe. They call it the Crucible of Fire.”

Fire!
The birch shuddered down to its very roots, every leaf quivering. The sparkbird flew out with a cheep of alarm.
Fire is the worst of enemies! The Watch burned the forest of Harenak, every leaf, every sapling. Who could fail to mourn so many deaths?

“Raffi!”

Galen had woken in a black temper. He came out of the shelter, still looking tired, and snapped, “Any news?”

“Nothing.”

“As soon as there is, let me know.” The keeper turned, tugging his black hair loose from the knot of string. “And stop wasting your time. Read! Flain knows you need to.”

Raffi picked the book up without glancing at it. “He’s a nightmare,” he muttered, “since Marco died.”

The tree was silent.

Galen limped between the birches to the stream. He waded in, scooping the cold water up to drink, splashing it over his face. For weeks he had been working on the sense-lines, driving himself nonstop. Already they had a chain of lines between a few known keepers and through re-awakened channels of tree-minds and earth-filaments that reached to Tasceron itself; in fact last night, after days of effort, Galen had spoken with Shean, the keeper of the Pyramid in the Wounded City. It had been a triumph. But it had worn him out.

Looking down on him, Raffi thought of the night of Marco’s death, of Galen’s terrible oath, that he would seek out the Margrave. That he would kill the Margrave.

“That’s why he’s so desperate to set the sense-grid up. And to get me through the Journey. He thinks he won’t come back alive.”