The Way Between the Worlds (2 page)

‘I almost have it,’ he muttered, half to himself. ‘Today I shall try one or two further variations to the formula, then we shall see.’ Turning to me, he gave me a brilliant smile and said, ‘Oh, yes, we shall see!’

I smiled back. I was glad to see him eating, for I knew that he often neglected himself. I did not expect him to tell me what he was trying to do. He was, after all, the master; I was only the young and very inexperienced pupil.

‘I thought that today we could begin on our study of the rudiments of alchemy,’ he said, still chewing. ‘I plan to begin by showing you some of the materials that are employed and the symbols that represent them, proceeding to a demonstration of a simple purification process.’

‘Oh—’ Half-excited, half-alarmed, I did not know how to respond.

‘But you have come to me on another matter, I see,’ he went on. ‘You asked to speak to me; please, go ahead.’

I had already decided on what to say, and now, as quickly and succinctly as I could, I told him about my dreams and the summoning words that I had received the previous night. He did not interrupt and when I had finished, he said thoughtfully, ‘Hmm.’

I waited. After a moment, he said, ‘You are afraid of whatever lurks in the mist.’

‘I am,’ I agreed.

He looked straight into my eyes. ‘Do you feel you must obey the summons, for all that you do not know from whom it comes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you do not believe that the fearsome entity in the mist spoke the words, for if you did you would not even contemplate replying to whoever is calling for you, never mind answering the summons.’

I had not thought of that. ‘No, I wouldn’t,’ I said slowly. I did not know who had put those words inside my head, but in my heart I knew it was someone close to me. As I heard them, it was almost like listening to my own thoughts.

Gurdyman finished his bread and cheese, drained his mug of beer and wiped his mouth and his fingers on a clean white napkin. Then he said decisively, ‘For the moment, let us put aside the dreams. If this message is as urgent as you believe, then it will come to you again.’

I did not like the thought of that. The three dreams I’d had so far had shown a distinct escalation in their power to frighten me, and I dreaded what might come next. But Gurdyman was still speaking, so I made myself listen.

‘. . . a list of those people who you think might have cause to ask you to help them,’ he was saying. ‘Your family, naturally, and your friends in Aelf Fen. Sibert, for example.’

Sibert was indeed my friend, and I could well believe that it was he who had summoned me. We had shared danger before and knew we could depend on each other.

‘Who else?’ Gurdyman had reached for a sharpened quill and a scrap of vellum, and was busy writing as he spoke. ‘You have healed many people, Lassair, and perhaps one who you treated successfully wishes to ask for your help once more.’ Watching over his shoulder, I saw him write, in beautiful, even letters,
former patients
, followed by a question mark.

I contributed one or two more suggestions, for I had relatives whom Gurdyman did not know about and it was always possible one of them needed me. Then, when his questioning expression elicited from me no further names, he rolled up the ragged piece of vellum, put it aside and said, ‘Now, to work.’

Even as I went wide-eyed into my first lesson in alchemy, I did not forget about the dreams and the summoning words, and I knew Gurdyman did not either. It was one of his habits, I was discovering, to outline a problem, note down all the details and then turn his mind to something quite different. He had an idea that the mind, given a problem to solve, was quite happy to get on with it while the body was engaged in other tasks. I spent the day taking from his hands bottles of strange liquid, fragments of various metals, hunks and chunks of materials, repeating after him their strange names: caustic lime, nitre oil, vitriol, borax, burned alum. Then came a bewildering assortment of receptacles and instruments: alembic, crucible, retort, receiver and even a skull. He unrolled a fresh piece of vellum and instructed me to write out the names and the corresponding symbols. Later, I knew, I would have to commit it all to memory.

Late in the day, Gurdyman consulted his astrological charts and announced that the Sun was in Aries in the Eleventh House and both the ascendant and Mars in Gemini in the First. He gave me a thoughtful look. ‘Your sun is in Gemini, as are your Mercury and Venus,’ he observed, ‘and your Mars and Jupiter in Aries. You are air and fire, and you totally lack earth and water.’ I wondered rather apprehensively how he knew. My aunt Edild had once cast my birth chart, but it was highly unlikely she’d ever shown it to Gurdyman. He stared at me thoughtfully for a few moments then, smiling, said softly, ‘I have just the thing.’

My first experiment in alchemy consisted of grinding some dried leaves and flowers in a pestle and mortar, mixing them with water and then heating the liquid in a still over the bright flame of an oil lamp that Gurdyman called a wick. I watched as the liquid turned to steam – Gurdyman said this process was known as vaporizing – and then, entranced, I saw tiny droplets begin to collect in a separate vessel that he called the receiver. Finally, when all was finished and the glass vessels had cooled down enough to touch, he extracted a drop of the new substance and held it out to me to sniff at. It smelt delicious; like summer flowers with the sun on them.

‘One becomes two, two becomes three and out of the third comes the one as the fourth,’ he intoned. Then, his distant expression softening into a smile, he said, ‘We took flowers and water, and we turned them into this sweet perfume.’

My mouth was open in surprise. I said, somewhat dimly, ‘Oh.’ Then, recovering a little wit, I added, ‘What did you mean about this being just the thing?’

‘You are air and fire. We used fire to harness water and the product of the earth.’

‘The flowers?’

‘The flowers. With our materials we made a substance – perfume – that belongs to the air. Do you see?’

I was not sure that I did. ‘I
begin
to see,’ I said cautiously, ‘but there is very much that is far beyond my understanding.’

He beamed. ‘Then you truly have put your feet on the path of learning, for wisdom is as much recognizing what we do not know as what we do.’

I wasn’t entirely sure I understood that, either.

I was exhausted when at last I went up the little ladder to my bed. I hoped I would sleep so soundly that no dream would penetrate, and for much of the night that must indeed have been the case.

The dream returned soon after dawn; I know that because when it released me from its claws and I woke up, light was just beginning to illumine the sky.

That night’s dream was the worst of all  . . .

I am back in the mist again, trying to find my way over waterlogged ground because the dreaded
something
out there is after me. Then, suddenly, there are other people around me – fleeing, like me, from this nameless terror. An old man helping a weak old woman; a mother trying to hurry along three little children while clinging tightly to the mewling baby in her arms. Big men armed with staves drive us along, urging us on. The water under my feet seems now to be much deeper, so it is a great effort to keep wading on through it. Then the terror truly catches hold of me: the water is rising faster than we are moving, and it is going to overwhelm us.

Panicking, I do not know what to do. Should I remain with the throng of people? Would it be safer to be in a crowd, so that we could all help each other?

I turn away from the hurrying masses, slip beneath the outstretched arm of one of the men herding us along and hurry off over the marsh. I hear a scream and, spinning round, see a huge wave rise up and engulf the ground where I had just been standing. The people have vanished.

I whimper in terror. Then I run.

The light is poor, and swirls of mist float around my feet, but somehow I am able to leap from tussock to tussock, and soon I know I have left the others a long way behind.

Then a great, dark figure looms up directly in front of me, so abruptly that it is as if he has risen up from the deep places of the earth. He is huge, towering above me. His face is deadly pale, his wide, thin mouth a red gash in the white skin. His teeth are long, sharp and pointed, and bared in a snarl.

I try to scream, but I am struck dumb and no sound comes out of me. Then he raises both arms high above his head and I see what he holds: an enormous battleaxe, a thunderstone, worthy of some great god or chieftain out of the old tales. Its single blade curves round in a vicious semicircle, its bright, keen edge dripping blood. He swings it around a couple of times and then brings it down so swiftly that it sings through the air  . . .

I woke up crouched in the corner of my bed, soaked in my own sweat, screaming as if I could never stop. I was making so much noise that the summoning words had to be repeated before I heard them:
come to me! I need you!
And even as they rang inside my head, it was as if I was still dreaming, for I had a sudden vivid vision of a wild and desolate place where the wind howled like a tormented spirit and old, rounded hills seemed to pace along a dim horizon. There were the ruins of some ancient building – pillars, huge stone slabs with strange markings on them – and, hollowed into the side of a low mound, a dark, narrow space like a grave or a crypt. I thought I saw a lifeless body, crouched foetus-like down in the earth  . . .

The vision left me almost as quickly as it had come. I fell forward on to my pillows and buried my head under my arms.

Gurdyman must have heard my screams, for quite soon I heard him puffing his way up the ladder. His head appeared through the gap in the floorboards and, with one swift look at me, he levered himself up into the attic and hastened across to me. I had already discovered many things about him: he is highly intelligent and extremely learned; he has a phenomenal memory; and his powers, the depths of which I had only just begun to suspect, leave me nervous with awe. Until that early morning, I had not appreciated that he has a very kind heart.

He did not speak at first, just held me in a warm, close embrace, one hand stroking my hair as if he were soothing a scared animal. Then, when my sobs finally ceased and the racking hiccups that followed were becoming more and more infrequent, he said quietly, ‘The dream again.’

‘Yes,’ I whispered.

‘Tell me.’

I hesitated, for I did not feel I could make myself go through it again so soon.

‘Lassair, child, it was a dream,’ he said. ‘In itself it cannot harm you, and to give in to your fear and try to close it away in the back of your mind will only empower it. Get it out into the good light of dawn, and we will watch as it dissipates.’

I knew he was right. My aunt Edild has sometimes had to help people whose dreams make them afraid to sleep, and she says much the same thing. She also says that a dream that recurs means a message that you ignore at your peril, but I tried not to think about that just then.

I took a deep breath, clutched at Gurdyman’s warm hand and told him everything I could remember.

When I had finished – and I was quite relieved to find that the retelling had not reduced me to my previous pitiful state – he got up and crossed back to the top of the ladder. Turning, he gave me a bright smile. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You have been very brave, and you deserve a good breakfast, which I shall prepare.’ He set off down the ladder. ‘Come down when you are ready,’ his voice floated back up, ‘and we shall decide what you are to do next.’

Do next? I had hoped that, having done as he had bade me and told him, I would be allowed to forget all about this strange business and get on with my studies. Now, as I got out of bed and swiftly drew on my outer garments, I had a nasty feeling that was not to be.

We ate our meal – of bread, honey-butter flavoured with cinnamon and a slice each of last night’s apple bake – and Gurdyman gave me a hot, spicy drink that tasted slightly bitter. I wondered if he had prescribed a mild sedative and thought I would be quite glad if he had. The food was plentiful and tasty, as always in Gurdyman’s house, for, when he remembers to eat, he eats well. When we had finished, he looked at me and said firmly, ‘Lassair, it is clear to me that whoever or whatever is trying to contact you will not give up. You have two choices: either endure these dreams, which will become more and more terrible, or go and find out who is summoning you and what they want of you.’ He studied me gravely. ‘You are not without courage, and you have a degree of resourcefulness,’ he mused.

‘You think I should search for whoever’s calling me?’

He gave a small shrug. ‘It is what I would do. But it is your choice, child.’ He gave a slight smile. ‘If you do not, I fear I shall have to speak to my neighbours and explain why my young pupil wakes them up with her screams.’

I felt my face blush. ‘Do you think they heard?’ I hissed.

‘It’s no use whispering now, child,’ he said with a laugh. ‘The damage was done at dawn.’ Relenting, he added, ‘Don’t worry. My neighbours are used to hearing strange noises from this house. I doubt that anyone will mention it.’

I doubted it, too. From what I had observed, Gurdyman’s neighbours preferred to restrict their dealings with him to a stiff little bow of the head and a polite good morning. It can’t be easy, living cheek by jowl with a wizard.

I knew what I was going to do. I think I’d known since I first heard those urgent words, the dawn before this one. Someone needed me and, although I was still young in the healing arts, already I had learned that when people called out to you with such an appeal, you did not turn away.

I fetched the piece of vellum on which we’d listed my family and friends and spread it out. ‘Most of the people I know live in or near to my village,’ I said, staring down at the names. ‘I’d better start there.’ I let go of the ends of the vellum, and it rolled itself up again. ‘It’s still early. If you can spare me, Gurdyman, I’ll set out straight away.’

TWO

T
he spring day was overcast but mild, and I made good time. On the road out of Cambridge, a young ginger-haired lad driving a cart loaded with logs stopped and gave me a lift, offering to take me as far as Wicken. There he would go straight on for Ely and I’d set off to the north-east, to Aelf Fen. He was inclined to be flirtatious, obviously wondering if a quick fumble behind a hedge might be his reward, but I put on my most demure demeanour and told him I was going to visit my sister in her nunnery. When I got down, I felt bit guilty and gave him half the meal I’d packed for myself. He seemed happy enough with that instead and gave me a cheery wave as he clicked to his horse and drove off.