The Legend of El Shashi (25 page)

“Talan it was,” added the young Sorceress, “who in his own hand, wrote Aulynni’s name upon the roll. How grievously it wounded his family
… words fail to bear witness.”

After a moment, P’dáronï’s face turned towards Eliyan’s place. “Honourable Councillor, be not afraid to speak your heart,” she whispered.

Eliyan drew a ragged breath, his face at last open, and drawn with grief. “Child, you see more than any of us. Aye, then, let me speak plain. Let it be known that Talan and I were once best of friends. Brothers, in all but blood. We shared all. Life, love, the deep joys of the
gyael-irfa
. But there came a day we quarrelled–over Aulynni’s love. We split. Things were said that day … bitter, binding things. Breaking things.”

His words fell with
a sore weight upon our company. But after a time, the Sorcerer seemed to return from a faraway place.

“I would speak of
… less painful times.” His gaze became lidded, heavy. “Friends, I concur with the view that Aulynni was the most talented Sorceress of her generation. More powerful than I; almost certainly more powerful than Lucan himself. She was striking in countenance, and possessed of a brilliant, but fragile, mind–an arrogant brilliance, easily capable of conceiving of what others dared not dream. I think we men were all half in love with her. But something happened between her and Talan one day that set them at odds with each other. After that, I do believe he feared her more than he loved her.”

“She hated the Banishment,” P’dáronï interjected. “Tell him, Arlak.”

Closing my eyes, I summoned the vision. Seared on my mind, I could recount it word for word.

After my rendition had chilled the room, causing the four of us to instinctively huddle towards the table like chicks in a nest seeking their mother’s absent warmth, Eliyan said, “Well! That explains
much. But you must know, Arlak, the Interrogators never saw your face. Talan never saw you. You were locked in a cell beneath their tower, attended by servants, while they attempted to break into your mind in concert, augmenting their powers, from the Chamber of Seeing. If he had–if Talan only knew who he was dealing with–you would be dead now.”

“Surely, Amal, you would’
ve been recognised–”

“Not so, P’dáronï. I am not much in the public eye. I never have been. Talan wanted nothing more than to disown us after my mother caused him so much trouble and embarrassment. Even if the servants knew, they must have kept silent for fear of him.”

“Or loyalty to you.”

Amal nodded solemnly. “You are ever too kind, P’dáronï-
nish
, in seeking the good in people.”

Their friendship, the use again of the diminutive ‘nish’ indicating the closeness of relationship, made me miss Janos terribly. I was thinking of him, when Eliyan spoke words I had secretly been dreading since I found out about Amal:

“But we cannot rely on this remaining a secret for long. Talan or his cronies shall catch scent of this fruit and a new wave of Banishment shall rise like a stormtide. Great care is needed. Great caution. And this woman Jyla–I cannot help wonder if she is not Aulynni, somehow returned from the Dark Isle–is still seeking you with all her resources and energies, Arlak.” His voice crackled with excitement, “But to un-banish the Banished …? Impossible! No, it cannot be her. Or can it … what a mystery!
Myki Mahdros
, she calls herself. The one who lives again, the reincarnate!”

Eliyan sighed hugely, the tide of
his excitement withdrawing to leave a tired man in its wake. “The historians call Talan’s signature work ‘the Second Purge’. There were new lists drawn up, new standards of purity to attain, new enemies to Banish, a second wave of hysterical Lucanism that sought and found shadows where there were none. Everyone lived in fear of the Interrogators. Few families were spared. In those days I was nought but a young, ambitious Sorcerer who did not dare act contrary to his elders and betters–no matter what I thought in private. I was a coward.”

As P’dáronï inclined her face toward him,
the lamplight played along the high arches of her cheekbones and tiny glints of gold winked to life in her hair. I was half-dwelling upon the enchantment of her beauty, half-reflecting upon the moment she masked Janos’ eavesdropping from Talan’s notice. What presence of mind from a mere child! How did she know? What part had Janos played in these tragic events? What part had P’dáronï yet to play?

She said, “The overthrow of power was not anticipated, honourable Councillor. You cannot and must not shoulder the blame for events which many more experienced Sorcerers did not anticipate. This guilt is not upon your shoulders.”

She spoke to the First Councillor as few dared, I thought. As an equal. As one who had insight and experience beyond her anna. This from a ‘mere’ Armittalese slave? I was not the only one in the room hiding secrets.

“P’dáronï,” I interrupted. “You were there that day. Did you see
–sorry, did you sense Janos’ presence? You hid him, didn’t you? Why?”

“She was
there in your vision?”

I smiled at Eliyan. “Truly told, P’dáronï was the other child
with Amal. How shocked I was to discover her here, taken flesh.”

Amal whispered, “I remember it well, the day that sealed my mother’s doom. But I do not remember this man you call Janos.”

“I do not rightly recall.” P’dáronï’s shoulders lifted. “He was a strange one. And yes, I sense things, Arlak. In my own way, I see–differently to you, of course, but I am not without perception. I sensed his goodness. I concealed him because I felt it was the right thing to do.”

“But
… why?”

“I was a child, with a child’s understanding of the world,” P’dáronï responded with gentle simplicity. “Just as I felt that
man then, I am able to sense your Web of Sulangi, Arlak–and today it is close. Close indeed to this place.”

My fingers
tried to leave dents in the tabletop. “What?”

“Listening?” suggested Amal.

The darkness in the corners swelled. It sprouted fingers, talons, closed in upon me from all sides in a roaring wave. Next I knew, I was on the floor looking upward. Eliyan was smiling the smile he reserved for when he was trying to be inscrutable–First Councillor, great Sorcerer, all those jatha-droppings, I thought sourly. But I was unhurt.

“
I’ve sent for refreshments,” he said, offering his hand.

I struggled to my feet and growled at P’dáronï, “Don’t
you ever do that to me again!”

She did not cringe. A tiny inclination of her head indicated her apology, but I noticed the muscles of her jaw tightened. Ay, she felt she had done right.

Eliyan exclaimed, “But it is the truth! And we have learned something, Arlak-
torfea
… something in which you will take great interest.”

“Ay, I have learned to fear for my very life,” I almost snarled, “when you start to find things ‘interesting’!”

But Eliyan laughed gleefully, even clapping his hands in excitement. “Indeed! Mark this: the Web only exists when you’re conscious.” Every hair on my nape stood on end. “Don’t you see, Arlak? It means
you
are the Wurm!”

“No, no
–”

“Yes
, and a hundred times yes!” Mata curse his amusement at my expense! “Why do you think the Council found nothing when they interrogated you? You were drugged. Why do you think we found nothing? Because the Web of Sulangi has always been applied to inanimate objects and insects. No Sorcerer has ever found a way to apply it to a living being without killing them. Were it not for P’dáronï’s unique insight it might not even have been discovered–”

“I’
m not some specimen to be dissected by you lot!”

I fell trembling back into my seat, surprised and embarrassed by my fist-thumping outburst.

“These are your fears speaking, Arlak,” P’dáronï pointed out.

Truly told, but
–accept Eliyan’s assertion? I should rather die. Easier by far shift all blame to the Wurm, or Jyla, I told myself, than to admit my own transgressions. Here in the mirror of self-realisation I beheld a loathsome ugliness.

The Sorcerer
studied me over his interlaced fingers. “That I could peel back the layers of that onion atop your shoulders and delve within, my young friend! But I’m not without compassion. By your will alone, Arlak Sorlakson, shall it be done. That is my wish, and my vow.”

Amal raised her hand in the Eldrik buskal of justice. “A true word has been spoken. May Mata honour this vow.”

I nodded, trying somehow to rediscover my calm. “Thank you.”

“But know this,” Eliyan rushed on. “If your heritage here in Eldoran is unmasked by Jyla’s agents, as it surely will be, then your life will be doubly forfeit. And Amal’s too. Your time in Eldoran must come to an end.”

“Ah!” P’dáronï breathed.

Unbidden, her fingers found mine beneath the tabletop. A simple touch that conveyed much. Now that our fears had found voice, our time together
suddenly became the more bittersweet. My voice trembled as I clarified, “You were talking about the Dark Isle? The place I saw through the portal … where Pedyk was sent?”

Eliyan again turned his most searching gaze upon me. “You confound me once more, Arlak. Few indeed see through the mists to the other side
–not even I. Amal? P’dáronï?” Both shook their heads. “Tell us what you saw.”

“A low, grey isle amidst heaving seas Nethe-bent on dragging it back down into the deep. I saw tentacles, like the octopi so beloved of Rhumian cuisine, but many times larger, rising from the dark waves.”

“The Karak. They breed amongst the reefs and rocks of Birial.”

Amal smiled. “And here I thought the Karak were
children’s stories made up to scare the unruly and the rebellious.”

“Truly told, and I thought jerlak a legend until we saw a herd attack a carter on the road between Yarabi Vale and Elaki Fountain.” I had not thought about this incident since my childhood. “He was beating one of his jatha, which had gone lame. His animal was breathing blood from its nose. Next moment these fifty or more jer
lak stampeded out of the forest. There was nought left but splinters trampled in the mud.”

I forced a pallid smile to my lips. “Now, there
remains much untold, and matters where, Mata forgive me, I have lied outright. I must mend these fences ere I depart. For you are my family and I cannot bear this deception longer.”

*  *  *  *

I left Eldoran as I had come, under a cloud of secrecy–but not by sorcery this time, but aboard a three-masted, deep-bellied
tollish
ship, an Eldrik seagoing vessel. Elegant enough for hauling freight, thought I, examining its lines with a jaundiced eye, but it lacked the sleek, spearing thrust of the Eldrik warships moored beneath the bluffs to my left hand. Our silken white topsails snaffled the first glimmering of dawn. At the rail a cool-fingered breeze ruffled my hair, grown shoulder-length in keeping with local fashion, but risible in the Fiefdoms. I must remember to have that cut! The mariners chanted as they worked the oars. Slowly the gap between the ship and the wharf grew. As did the gap in my quoph.

No-one had come to see me off. This was adjudged too dangerous, for in truth, Eliyan had already detected what he called ‘ripples’ in the
gyael-irfa
. Our doings? I thought back to his final admonition. ‘Hide yourself,’ he charged me. ‘Hide yourself deep, where this Jyla cannot find you–and above all else, refrain from summoning her Wurm. She will know the instant you do. I will alert my trusted Sorcerers. Doubt not any attempt to destroy the Banishment would turn against us, in our present weakness. I must build our strength, our readiness, and our resources against that day. Beware Jyla, who is Myki Mahdros incarnate. She will not easily be thwarted.’

Amal’s parting gift was an amulet affixed to a slim chain, which she placed about my neck. ‘In the makh of your need, use this to call me,’ she said. ‘I will know where you are and come to you, brother-mine, no matter where. This is a sealed magic nought can withstand, and none but I can detect.’ I thanked her, and we embraced. Truly told, I wept.

In my pack I had two books, gifts from P’dáronï. The first was an encyclopaedia of Eldrik medical terms, techniques, and treatments, a mighty tome indeed. The book is a peculiarly Eldrik invention, for we Umarites prefer the scrolleaf. The second was P’dáronï’s own work–doubtless prepared by her personal scribe–a volume that summarised our different discussions and discoveries, and contained a section of her poetry.

Ah, the manifold intricacies of femininity! I knew not whether to smile or grit my teeth. When I bade her to fare well, I wished to grant her the gift of sight. But P’dáronï refused again. ‘Think upon this,’ she said gently, doubtless sensing my disappointment. ‘You would not be healing me, for you cannot heal what has never been whole. It would mean creating my sight anew, as if you and Mata were one. And I believe that the power of creation is Hers alone. It is not for any man, nor woman, to claim.’

Was this a true word? I told myself she was afraid of the unknown, of damaging her abilities. Was it possible, indeed, that her abilities were linked to her blindness?