The Mirror of Her Dreams (7 page)

His assertion fell into the silence like a personal challenge, as if he were daring the Master to battle.

And a small sting of panic touched Terisa's heart.

Vexation replaced the humour in Eremis' face. He swung scowling away from her: his tall body seemed to poise itself for a scathing retort. But an instant later he drew back a step, his self-control restored.

That is not properly true, my lady,' he said coldly, without a glance at her. 'I believe that you did not exist until you were translated from the mirror.'

'And therefore,' Geraden went on, 'he believes that you are an object, my lady, an artifact of Imagery-a thing to be used, not a woman to be respected.'

That was too much for Master Eremis. 'Faugh!' he spat. 'I will not debate the meaning of Imagery with a puppy too hapless to earn a chasuble and too witless to respect his betters.' He dismissed Terisa. 'Go with him. He will drive me to distraction if you do not.'

Turning away, he strode through the crowd of Masters. A moment after he disappeared behind one of the pillars, Terisa heard the thud of a heavy, wooden door.

Geraden didn't look at her. His gaze was fixed on the flagstones. He was so hot with embarrassment that beads of sweat stood on his forehead.

'ARROGANCE,' one of the Imagers muttered. Another smiled his relish for Eremis' discomfiture; but most of the Congery felt otherwise. Master Gilbur gave a heavy shrug of disgust. The rabbity man twitched his nose. They were glaring at Geraden.

Trembling inside, Terisa studied him, too. Softly, hesitantly, she asked, 'What do you mean, he believes I don't exist? Or I didn't exist until I was translated from the mirror?' That idea hit her too hard, too deeply. Was the uncertainty of her being so plain that even strangers could see it? 'It doesn't make any sense. None of this makes any sense. You don't even know who I am.'

At once, Geraden began to apologize. 'I'm sorry, my lady. I keep treating you badly, when that's the last thing I want.' He met her gaze with an expression of brave distress-unhappy about his talent for doing or saying the wrong thing, but determined to face the consequences. 'I should have let you go with Master Eremis. I don't know what came over me.'

Before she could protest, That isn't what I meant, Master Barsonage intervened. 'Apt Geraden,' he said, 'we have little patience for your contrition just now.'

'I'm sorry,' said Geraden again, reflexively.

'It is a tale,' the Master went on in a tone like a bar of lead, 'we have heard many times. Silence it, therefore, and heed me instead. I will not command you not to speak of all this to the King, since I know you would not obey me. I will say this, however. She is here through your agency. She is your responsibility. Give her the courtesy of Orison's hospitality as well as the Congery's respect. She is a mystery to us and must be well treated.

'But'-he clamped a hand onto Geraden's shoulder-'do not answer her questions, Apt.'

At that, Geraden's eyes widened. Ignoring Terisa, Barsonage tightened his grip and his tone. 'As a mystery to us, she is dangerous. Do not betray Mordant or the Congery to her until we are sure of her.'

Geraden's gaze slid away from the Master's. He studied the stones under Terisa's feet and said nothing.

Very quietly, the thick man asked, 'Do you understand me, Apt? I am the mediator of the Congery. If I dismiss you, you will never again be considered for the chasuble of a Master.'

None of the other Imagers made a sound. Some of them looked vexed: some seemed to be holding their breath. The air in the room was still too cold for comfort.

Geraden's shoulder twisted under the mediator's grasp; then he straightened himself against the pressure. 'I understand you, Master Barsonage.' He sounded faraway and forlorn. 'The lady is my responsibility.'

'In all ways.'

'In all ways.'

Slowly, Master Barsonage released his hand. 'Admirable,' he muttered. 'Good sense becomes you.'

'Ha!' snorted Master Gilbur. 'Admirable, indeed.' He was glaring blackly at Geraden. 'If you believe that he will keep his word, Barsonage, you have become old in your wits.'

At that, Master Barsonage put his hands like barrel staves on his sides. 'Let me caution you against such statements, Master Gilbur, We are little trusted now-and less when you speak with such contempt. Apt Geraden springs from the honest and honourable line of the Domne. The sons of the Domne have always been true.'

Abruptly, then, he turned away from Geraden and Terisa. These meetings consume too much time,' he said in a friendly way to no one in particular. 'Again I am late for my noontide meal.' Slapping at his girth, he asked, 'Masters, will you join me?'

Several of the Imagers assented: Gilbur and others declined with varying degrees of courtesy. The Congery began to break up as Masters left the open centre of the chamber, moving towards the doors beyond the pillars. After a few backward looks and a murmured comment or two, they left her and Geraden alone.

He continued staring at the stones under her feet as if he were ashamed.

She blinked at him, feeling vaguely stupid. No one was going to answer any of her questions? No one was going to tell her why Master Eremis thought she didn't exist? Surely she had a right to protest?

As a little girl, however, she had occasionally made the mistake of protesting, of trying to stand up for herself.
It isn't fair why do I always have to go to bed you never want me around!
The reactions she had received taught her at an early age the folly of what she was doing. Her parents had wanted her to impinge on their consciousness as little as possible. Her father, in particular, had seldom been gentle when she had called his notice down on herself. Following his example, most of his servants had treated her with bare tolerance. And the numerous private schools to which she had been shuttled at his whim all had specific instructions where she was concerned. A passive child was only dismissed from attention: an assertive one was punished. And it was punishment which had first convinced her that she might not be real. Over the years, she had learned to let herself feel less and less of the emotions that led to demands and rejection.

So instead of indulging herself in some kind of outcry, she did the next best thing: she watched the flush of Geraden's shame and said nothing.

When he finally raised his head, he looked miserable.

'I'm sorry, my lady. This isn't what I thought was going to happen at all. I knew they would have to be convinced-especially Master Gilbur. But I didn't think they-' He grimaced. 'It isn't fair to drag you into this and then refuse to answer your questions. It just isn't fair. And it's
my
fault again, of course.'

To keep him talking, she asked, 'How is it your fault?'

Glumly, he muttered, 'I didn't tell them about your mirrors.'

There seemed to be no point in reminding him that she couldn't possibly understand what he meant, so she said, 'Why didn't you?'

He shrugged. 'I meant to. But at the last second I had the strongest feeling-' His voice trailed away, then came back more strongly. 'I just don't trust Master Eremis. Or Master Gilbur either, for that matter. I don't want to tell them anything.'

Terisa considered him for a moment. 'But you're still not going to answer my questions.' Thanks to her years of training, her tone betrayed almost no bitterness.

With a wince, he replied, 'No. I can't. You heard him. I think he's wrong-but that doesn't make any difference. He can have me dismissed. I've been trying to become a Master since I was fifteen. I can't give it up.' Again, he said, 'I'm sorry.'

Glowering, but unable to meet her gaze, he stopped. His dire expression made him look younger than he was-in fact, younger than she was herself. Unexpectedly, she found that she wasn't angry at him, not even down in the secret places of her heart where she kept her dangerous emotions hidden. He seemed to be upset as much on her behalf as on his own. That was a degree of consideration to which she was unaccustomed.

In response, she surprised herself by inquiring, 'Do you think I exist?'

He looked at her sharply, the glower suddenly gone from his face. 'Well, of course. Isn't it obvious? In fact, you're the proof of what King Joyse and Adept Havelock have been saying all along. Masters like Eremis and Gilbur believe the mirrors create what we see in them. Those things only exist when they're translated out of the glass. But that never made any sense to me. And now it sounds like nonsense-now that I've gone into a mirror for myself and met you.' Excitement improved his appearance considerably. That was a shock-when I stepped into the glass expecting to find the champion and found you instead-but it convinced me you're real. Everything in the mirrors is real.'

Then he caught himself; the excitement faded from his face. He became distant and wary, ashamed again. 'But I'm not supposed to answer your questions.'

Terisa almost laughed. Out of nowhere, he made her feel good -better than she had felt for a long time. Already, he had convinced her that if she kept him talking he wouldn't be able to refuse her. He took her too seriously to refuse her. 'Apt Gera-den,' she said, 'if I'm real, I must be important. Even if I'm an accident, I must be important. Don't you think it might be a good idea to ask me who I am?' His eyes went wide: mouth agape, he stared at her. Apparently,

he had been so wrapped up in her translation and his argument with the Imagers that he had forgotten the simple courtesy of asking for her name. The realization made him tremble on the brink of more contrition and misery; more apologies.

But an instant later he caught the spirit of her question. His face broke into a grin; he began to laugh. 'Oh, good for you, Geraden,' he said, shaking his head in amused horror. 'You're really doing well today.' Then he took a step backward, assumed a pose of mock dignity, and bowed extravagantly. The effort tripped him; he barely avoided stumbling. 'My lady,' he intoned, 'I prostrate myself before you most humbly. Will you deign to grant me the sublime honour of your name and station?'

'Don't be silly,' she replied, trying to conceal her enjoyment. 'I don't have any 'station'. My name is Terisa Morgan.'

'My lady Terisa of Morgan,' he continued sententiously, 'you are too kind. I am your most unworthy servant. But if you will accompany me, it will be my great joy to make you acquainted with Joyse, founder of the Congery, lord of the Demesne, and King of Mordant.'

Then he changed back to his normal manner. 'I think it would be a good idea if you met him right away. He needs to know about you, no matter what some of the Masters say. He'll understand how important you are. And he might be willing to tell you what's going on around here.'

When he said this, her mood soured. The reference to 'how important' she was restored her sense of the unreality of the situation. One way or another, she was a mistake: she was the wrong person. In consequence, she felt a sudden, irrational reluctance to meet King Joyse. He might laugh like her father at the idea that she was important.

'Geraden,' she asked awkwardly, 'is there really a reason for all this? You're not just doing an experiment on me, are you? Practising your translations?'

Somehow, he looked straight into her face and saw what she was feeling. At once, his expression sobered: empathy softened his gaze. 'My lady, I swear to you on my heart that the need is urgent. King Joyse would have the head of any Imager who did frivolously what we've done to you-though there are some,' he digressed momentarily, 'who might attempt it, if they weren't restrained by the Congery.

'In addition, I swear to you,' he went on, 'if your translation is an accident-a mistake of any kind-I'll do everything anybody can do to restore you to your own world.

'And one thing more, my lady.' His tone and his gaze grew sharper. 'I'll find a way to get you back to your own world anyway, if King Joyse or Master Barsonage or
somebody
doesn't decide to start treating you better soon.'

Meeting his eyes, Terisa found that she believed him in spite of herself. The whole idea was secretly amazing-that any man, however accident-prone, would look at her and make promises so seriously. To cover her astonishment, she turned a little away from him. Then, as distantly as she could, she said, 'You'd better call me Terisa. I'm not anybody's 'lady'. I don't want the King to get the wrong idea.'