The Mirror of Her Dreams (5 page)

'My lady'-again he spoke formally, and again his voice seemed to catch hold of her-'you are not happy here. You are not needed. You are not loved. Come with me.' He extended a hand towards her. 'You are an Imager. It may be that my glass was formed for you from the pure sand of dreams.'

'I'm not an Imager,' she replied. 'I don't dream very often.'

Her protest was automatic, however, not urgent. She was hardly listening to herself. Because her dreams were so rare, they made powerful impressions on her.

And in her dream she had remained passive and unimportant while three riders had charged forward to kill her and a man she didn't know had risked his life to save her. A man like Geraden. Everything she disliked about herself held her back-her unreality, her fear of her father and punishment, her inability to have any meaningful effect on her own life. But Geraden still held out his hand to her.

She couldn't help noticing that it was nicked and bruised in several places, and one of his fingernails was torn. Still she thought it was a good hand-sturdy and faithful.

It made her trrink of horns.

Their call carried her fear away.

'But,' she went on, and each word was a surprise to her, conjured by unexpected music out of the ache in her heart, 'I think I would like to find out what's been hiding on the other side of my mirrors all this time.'

In response, his face lit up like a sunrise.

3 Translation

'I DON'T BELIEVE IT,' Geraden murmured to himself. 'I don't
believe
it.' Then, an instant later, he said excitedly, 'Quick, before you change your mind. Take my hand.'

She didn't believe it either. What was she doing? But his excitement made her want to laugh again. And in her memory the horns called clearly, ringing out over the cold snow despite distance and the intervening hills-called to her.

Quickly, so that she wouldn't have time to change her mind, she moved closer to him and put her hand in his.

At once, she became self-conscious. 'Is that all there is to it?' she asked. 'Don't you have to wave your arms, or say magic words, or something?'

His grin grew wider and happier as he clasped her hand. That's all. The invocations and gestures have already been made. And the ability is born, not made. All you have to do is move with me.' Balancing himself on the knee of his truncated leg, he got his left foot under him. 'And'-his expression sobered slightly -'watch your step.'

He began to push himself backward, drawing her with him.

As he did so, his right calf disappeared by inches: the flat plane remained stationary, so that as he slid his knee backward more and more of his leg was cut off. He seemed to be using his foot and leg to probe a place behind him-a place which didn't exist.

When his right leg reached far enough, he was able to straighten his knee. Smiling and nodding to Terisa, slowly pulling her after him, he raised himself until he was almost upright. 'You might find it easier,' he said, 'if you close your eyes.' Then he shifted his weight to the other leg.

At that moment, his face went wide with dismay as he lost his balance and started to fall.

His plunge wrenched her forward, towards the wall-towards the plane where first his leg and now his entire body seemed to vanish. Instinctively, she tried to jerk free. But though he flailed for support, his hand held hers in a grip she couldn't break. She tried to cry out, flung up her arm to ward off the impact.

The last thing she saw of her apartment was the splotched plaster where her broken mirror had once been glued. While she was still trying to release the cry of panic trapped in her throat, her marginal grasp on actuality failed, and she faded out of existence.

At once, she passed into a zone of transition where time and distance contradicted themselves. She felt eternity in an instant -or maybe she felt an instant that took forever. Her fall became a vast and elongated plummet down from or up to the heights of a world, even though the plunge carried her no more than half a step forward. She studied the sudden darkness intimately, despite the fact that it was so brief she could hardly have noticed it.

And then, with the same sensation of instantaneous eternity, of huge brevity, she saw Geraden again: he seemed to snap back into existence as though he had been lit to life by the abrupt orange illumination of the lamps and torches.

He was still falling, his face stretched in consternation; he had misjudged the step behind him. And his hand still gripped hers. She couldn't recover. Even if she had been braced, she might not have been strong enough to stop his collapse towards the grey flagstones.

So she landed on top of him. Because she was trying to get her arms between herself and the impact, she accidentally planted an elbow in his stomach as she hit. His mouth gaped pain, and the breath burst from his lungs. But his body protected her: she flopped onto him and then off again. As a result, she came to rest on her back beside him, her face turned towards the massive old vaulted stone ceiling.

For a moment, the perceptual wrench had the effect of blindness. She started upward as though she hadn't observed the difference between this place and her apartment. Past her feet, and up two steps from her sprawling position, stood a large mirror in a polished wooden frame. The glass was nearly as tall as she was; it was tinted with a colour that only showed at the edges of its surface; instead of being made flat it had been given a faintly rippling curve. On some level, she was aware that what she saw reflected in the mirror wasn't the ceiling above her or the wail behind her. It also wasn't the living room of her apartment. Yet in other ways she was no more conscious of the mirror than she was of the stone on which she lay.

Then, distinctly, she heard someone say, 'Where did you get
herT

'You were invisible in the mirror. How did you do that?'

'Where did you go?'

Slowly through her stunned surprise leaked the information that she was stretched on the floor in the centre of a circle of men.

What? she thought dumbly, her throat choked with astonishment. A circle of men.
Where?

There must have been twenty or thirty of them, all staring down at her. At a glance, she saw that some of them were old and others weren't: all of them were older than she was. They wore a variety of cloaks and robes, cassocks and jerkins-warm clothing to compensate for the coolness of the air. Each of them, however, had a chasuble of yellow satin draped around his neck.

Some of them peered at her in amazement and horror. She felt that way herself. Tool!' one of them rasped. Another muttered, This is impossible.'

Others were laughing.

At her side, Geraden gaped for air. A delicate shade of purple spread up from his corded neck over the tight lines of his cheeks.

'Well, Apt,' one of the laughing men said through his mirth, 'here's another fine disaster.' He was tall, strongly built in spite of his leanness. His nose was too big; his cheekbones were too narrow, too flatly sloped towards his ears; his black hair formed an unruly thatch on the back of his skull, leaving his forehead bald. But the humour and intelligence in his pale eyes made him keenly attractive. He was wrapped in a jet cloak, which he wore with an air of insouciance. The ends of his chasuble hung as if he might start twirling them at any moment. 'With all the realm in danger, we send you questing for a champion to save us. But for you this is nothing more than an opportunity for dalliance.

'My lady,' he went on, addressing Terisa, 'it may be that you found young Geraden appealing enough to lure you here. But now that you
are
here, I think you will discover that Mordant has better men to offer.' With a laughing flourish, he bowed over her formally and extended his hand to help her to her feet.

Mordant, she echoed in the same dumb, choked surprise. He did it. He actually brought me to Mordant.

Geraden whooped a breath and began to pull air past the knot in his stomach.

Instinctively, Terisa turned towards him. At the same time, however, one of the men who hadn't been laughing crouched beside Geraden. This man had a face the colour and texture of a pine board. His eyebrows were as thick and stiff as bracken, but there was no other hair on his head anywhere. His girth appeared to be nearly as great as his height. 'Shame, Master Eremis,' he muttered, reaching one heavy arm under Geraden's head and shoulders to support the young man as he hacked for breath. 'Find some other cause for amusement. What has happened here is either disaster or miracle. Certainly it is unprecedented. It needs seriousness.'

Master Eremis' smile reached halfway to his ears. 'Master Barsonage, you have no sense of play. What can any man or Master do about Apt Geraden's pratfalls and confusions, except laugh?' He turned his attention back to Terisa. His offer of help hadn't wavered. 'My lady?'

'We can weep, Master Eremis,' a guttural voice responded from the circle. 'You have admitted yourself that we are doomed if we do not find the champion augured for us. I care nothing for King Joyse and his petty realm'-at this, the thick man supporting Geraden made a hissing noise through his teeth- 'and I do not care who knows it. Let him sink into senility, and let Alend and Cadwal butcher each other for the right to replace him. But
we
have no other hope, the Congery of Images. This blighted Apt has just failed us.'

Terisa wanted to turn to see who had spoken. But she was held by the smile and the eyes and the extended hand of Master Eremis. He was looking at her,
at her,
as if she were real-as if she were really present in this high chamber of cut stone, where the air held a tang of winter and the light came from oil lamps and a few torches; impossibly present here when she had no physical right to be anywhere at all except back in her apartment, staring at herself alone in her mirrors.

The magnetism of his look compelled her. She couldn't refuse him; he gave her the tangible existence she had always doubted. Gazing back at him in surprise and wonder, she let him take her hand and draw her easily to her feet.

'You're wrong,' Geraden coughed. His colour was improving. With Master Barsonage's help, he tried to sit up. 'All of you. She's the right one.'

The reaction was loud and immediate: most of the men started talking at once.

'What? A woman? Impossible.'

'Are you blind? Look at her. She isn't even
armed'

This is not the champion you were sent to bring. Do you think we are as foolish as you?'

'But this proves it! Think of the implications. King Joyse and Adept Havelock are right. They
are
alive.'

'Leave the boy alone. I'm sure this was just another accident.'

The guttural voice added, 'What nonsense. Do not be irresponsible. You have made a ruin out of our trust. Do not try to disguise your failure by pretending success.' Terisa saw the speaker now: he was a heavy-set man with a crooked back, hands that looked strong enough to break stones, a white beard spattered with flecks of black, and a fleshy scowl etched permanently onto his face. To the other Masters, he concluded, 'I argued and argued that we should not pin our hope on this hapless puppy, but I was outvoted. This'-he pointed a finger as massive as the peen of a hammer at Terisa-'is the result.'

Master Eremis laughed again and made a placating gesture. But before he could reply, Geraden protested, 'No, Master Gilbur.' Coughing, he struggled out of Master Barsonage's hold and pushed himself to his feet. Tt isn't my fault this time. Think about it-'

Unfortunately, the attempt to stand, talk, and cough simultaneously confused his balance. He stepped on one of his own feet and fell to the side, pitching heavily against two Imagers. They were barely able to catch him. Several men guffawed; this time Terisa could hear their bitterness. They had seen him do things like this before.

When he regained his balance, he was flushed and glowering with embarrassment.

'Apt Geraden,' Master Eremis said kindly, 'you have not had an easy time of this. But what is done is done-and we are no nearer to the champion we need than we were when you began. It might be wiser if you did not vex the Congery further by arguing against the obvious.'

Grimly, Geraden straightened the disarray of his jerkin.