Authors: Angus Wells
He met her sightless gaze unflinching and said, “I’ll not betray my people, Rwyan; but can you find a way to avoid this war and free my kind—then, aye. What aid is mine to give, you shall have.”
“Good.”
Rwyan returned to her observation of the crystal. I looked from her to Urt. There was much we had to say to one another; there was not the time to say it. He smiled grimly and said, “I cannot linger, lest I bring suspicion on you. Do you employ that thing, and I’ll come back ere dawn.”
I said, “Shall it be safe till then?”
“All well,” he answered. “Save the Lord Tezdal wakes. Does that happen, we’re lost.”
I nodded, and he clasped my hand again. “Daviot, for good or ill, I
am
your friend,” and then he was gone.
I turned to Rwyan. “What is it?” I asked her.
She said, “Am I right, then such magic as should delight you, Daviot. Am I right, this stone holds memories.”
I gaped, going to her side. The crystal lay on the table. It was the size of my clenched fist, a pale blue that pulsed faintly, like water struck by sunlight. Sparks of pink fluttered through it. It was a pretty thing. It seemed quite harmless, save for the strange sense of slumbering power emanating from it. Or did it slumber? I experienced a strange sensation as I came near. I thought the crystal … eager … as if it anticipated contact. I felt suddenly nervous. I felt … I can only describe it as a call, in the channels of my blood, in the roots of my brain. Perhaps it was only that I knew the stone for an occult thing; perhaps otherwise I should have thought it only some chunk of quartz, grist to the lapidaries and no more.
I asked, “Can you use it? I thought your talent denied you here.”
Rwyan licked her lips and said, “Be this so powerful as I suspect, I think it shall commune with us both. I believe it asks to be unlocked, and it shall overcome those gramaryes that limit me.”
I saw that she felt scant enthusiasm for that contact. “Do you fear a trick?”
Her smile was fleeting. She said, “Such thought had crossed my mind.”
I said, “Then leave it be.”
She said, “Do you not trust Urt, then?”
I shook my head. “I trust him. But he’s no sorcerer. Might Allanyn have let him bring this?”
She closed her eyes a moment, then forced a smile. “Let us find out,” she said. “Do you sit and take my hand and not let go.”
I took a chair beside her. Her hand was warm in mine, our fingers interlaced. I felt wary as she reached toward the stone. I saw it pulse brighter as her free hand drew near. The stone flickered more red than blue. It seemed to me hungry. Rwyan set her fingertips on the crystal, and it became all brightness, like spilling blood. Her hand was lost in the glow. I heard her murmur, the words too low I might discern them. I felt the magic engulf me, flowing out from the stone in a torrent of occult power, Rwyan the conduit.
I cannot properly describe that sensation: as it is with dreams, so ordinary words, mundane concepts, are insufficient to the task. As in dreams, I saw clearly, I was aware, and yet all was governed by an indefinable logic, defying rational analysis. Knowledge was instantaneous, a flood that washed over me and into me. There was no order, save what my mind must impose that I be able to digest it all. Understanding was imparted wordlessly, instinctive as the child’s first inhalation.
I must use inadequate words to describe what entered me.
I saw the Changed left behind in Ur-Dharbek by we Truemen, that they be living safeguard against the dragons. I felt their fear, their anger: I
was
Changed. I was aware of their survival, of time’s slow passing like impossibly long
summer, nurturing resentment of their unfair fate as they hid from the predators. Too many died.
Images, then, of crystals, of discovery, of burgeoning awareness, the sense of wonder as the talent was discovered, the Changed found the gift of magic Never so many of them they might overcome the Border Cities I saw built, guardians of the Slammerkin, an occult wall to Dharbek’s north, but enough they could defend themselves, conceal themselves from the dragons and then drive off the sky hunters.
Time then, slowly passing, the world turning, the dragons no longer a threat save to children, become creatures of legend. A bountiful time ensuing, peaceful, the gifted coming to better understanding of the magic they used unthinking, the slowly burgeoning realization it stemmed from the crystals.
A hunt: to gather the occult stones and bring them where they should be hidden from Truemen, piled to build the magic of the Changed—to this valley of Trebizar. The first of the gifted formed the Raethe, and Trebizar became the heart of Ur-Dharbek, power spreading. … I saw the wastes mastered by Changed magic, made a pleasant land, a secret, contented land, save for … the memories these crystals held, always reminding those gifted with the talent of what had been, of Truemen’s treachery. And those memories nowhere stronger than in Trebizar, amongst the gifted of the Raethe.
I choked on bile as waves of bitter resentment, of raw hatred beat over me. I knew then that Allanyn had held this stone and was mad, consumed by crystalline dreams of revenge. I knew that all those Changed possessed of the strongest talent were crazed. I felt an awful guilt for what my kind had made of these folk.
I saw, too, that their magic took a different path to that of the Dhar sorcerers. These Changed lived closer to the earth than we, and their magic—once the dragons were gone—was not needed in defense of their land, but employed to render the wastes habitable. I saw that most were peaceable, and in that found some small hope.
And then despair as events unfolded in my mind, and I saw the first Kho’rabi skyboat, driven north by Sentinels and Border Cities, come drifting down to land, to make alliance with the wild Changed.
To those most gifted—those bent fiercest on revenge—it was a boon unimaginable.
As the paths of Changed and Truemen’s magic had diverged, so had that commanded by the Sky Lords. Their will was bent on conquering the Worldwinds, on binding the elementals to their cause, that they mount the Great Coming and take back their ancestral land. In the wild Changed they found allies both physical and magical: they joined in union.
Changed had always come north over the Slammerkin—the rebels and the discontented, the dreamers. But only north: now the Sky Lords showed how that barrier might be crossed southward.
Their great invasion craft were whales in the ocean of the sky; their little skyboats were barracuda, swift. They evaded the magic of the Dhar. They carried wild Changed south to speak with the oppressed and kindle the dream that grew amongst their northern kin. To we Truemen these agitators were faceless as their servile southern brethren—they came and went unnoticed. Thus was the flame of discontent fanned, the torch of rebellion lit; thus would the Changed of Dharbek know when the time was come.
I saw the whole design now, or the larger part of it. I saw how Ayl had his knowledge of this land. I saw those little pieces of the puzzle I’d recognized as I wandered fall into place. It was a terrifying alliance. I knew it must shatter Dharbek. I saw how blind we Dhar had been, and were still.
It began already, for the crystal told me it was Allanyn’s agent had poisoned Gahan, and that Jareth’s ascendancy delivered the land to disunion. I saw that soon the Kho’rabi would mass in Ur-Dharbek, and that from Ahn-feshang would come such an invasion fleet as must surely overwhelm the Sentinels, whilst from the north would come that other, Sky Lords and Changed together.
From the crystal came a sense of immediacy, of anticipation. A sense of terrible hunger.
I was barely aware when the flood of images, of impressions, ceased. I knew that my head ached and my mouth was dry, that my eyes felt scorched as if I’d wept. I felt a touch upon my shoulder and found a cup of wine pressed to my lips. I drank and looked into Rwyan’s eyes. Her face was pale and grave.
I said, “Can there be any doubt?”
She shook her head. “But perhaps some hope,” she said.
I frowned and drank again. I was not used to this communication with the occult. I said, “What did you see that gives you hope?”
She filled a cup and drank herself before replying. I saw that the crystal was no longer bright, but only faintly pulsing now. Beyond the window night reigned. The knowledge of centuries had flooded through my aching head, but the angle of the moon told me it was scarce midnight.
Rwyan said, “The talent brings its own curse here. Allanyn and her ilk are quite mad.”
I said, “Old news, Rwyan; poor news.”
I did not mean to speak so sharp. I felt fear and despair in equal measure: now more than ever I could see no hope.
Rwyan ignored my poor humor. She set down her cup and said, “But not all are crazed. Neither all the Changed, nor all the Raethe. Urt’s sane enough, for one.”
I said, “And is but one; and helpless against Allanyn.”
She said, “Save he finds allies.”
“Allies?” I shook my head. “Allanyn’s strong in the Raethe—Urt’s own warning, no? And what I saw suggested only bloody war.”
She said, “Those folk we encountered along the road here—were they bellicose?”
I shook my head again and wished I’d not.
Rwyan said, “I saw much of a peaceful land. The fiercest hatred resides in the gifted, I think.”
I said, “The gifted hold the power, it seemed to me.”
She nodded slowly and gave me back, “True, but I suspect Allanyn and her faction lead these folk into war; and hide much from them. Did you not recognize the undercurrents?”
I began to shake my head and thought better of it. Instead I only said no.
She said, “Forgive me: I assume talent in you,” and vented a short bitter laugh.
I thought at first she laughed at me, but then she sighed and pushed back her hair and made a small conciliatory gesture. I saw a great sadness in her eyes, and had the crystal not still stood between us, I’d have reached out to take her
hand. I felt too weary to rise and go around the table. Instead, I mustered a smile and asked that she explain.
She closed her eyes a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. “I think I understand why these crystals are close-guarded. Were they used often, they’d show all their secrets, even to those without the talent. As it is—in the God’s name, Allanyn and her followers deserve to die!”
I had never heard such anger in her voice, nor seen it on her face. She had an enviable capacity for forgiveness, but now I saw and heard only implacable rage. She seemed to me like one of those messengers the priests claim the God sometimes sends, avenging. I frowned and asked, “What is it?”
She gestured at the crystal. “These stones record memories,” she said. “Memories, and more. By the God, aye! They record so much more; but that hidden, to be found only by those with the talent.”
She shook her head and filled her cup. I watched her drink, thinking I’d not seen her so disturbed. I waited agog.
She swallowed wine and said, “Are they used frequently, they absorb the emotions of the user. Desires, lusts, dreams—all are recorded. But deep, like the lees in a wine cup, lost to most under the weight of that other knowledge they hold.
“Listen—those messengers the Sky Lords have carried south, they give the Changed of Dharbek a dream, give them a share of the hate. They promise riches, a domain of the Changed, but say nothing of the bloodshed that dream must entail. Or what shall follow.”
Her eyes were fierce on mine, as if she’d impress comprehension with her gaze alone. I shrugged, not yet understanding.
She said, “The message those crystals bear is shaped by the gifted, by Allanyn and her kind. And she hides too much.”
I said, “Urt told us the stones are a close-guarded secret.”
She nodded. “And save a sorcerer plumbs their depths, they tell only so much as Allanyn would reveal.”
I asked, “What does she hide?”
Rwyan said, “Allanyn seeks not to free her kind but to rule them. Already this Raethe is less than that honest government Ayl spoke of, but rather controlled by Allanyn and
those gifted who choose her path. Or are seduced by these crystals.”
“How can that be?” I said. “Surely the crystals are only tools of you sorcerers?”
“No.” She shook her head, the movement both weary and angry. “I believe the crystals have a life of their own. Perhaps they think; perhaps they’ve absorbed so much fear, so much resentment, down all those long ages the Changed suffered that they give it back.” She laughed again; I did not like the sound. “I curse Allanyn, but perhaps I should curse the crystals. Perhaps, unwitting, she’s only their creature.”
She paused, drawing deep breaths. It was as though the enormity of what she’d learned required an effort to tell. I Med her cup and mine, and waited. I felt a great dread.
“Allanyn seeks war,” she said. “She’d see all Truemen ground down; slain or enslaved. But then, that victory won, she’d make herself ruler of all the Changed. She’d see only the gifted in the Raethe—save it should be no longer the Raethe but her court. She’d be mistress of all Dharbek, and to gain that end she’d sacrifice her people.”
In my mouth wine became bitter. I swallowed, and it seemed to burn my throat. I saw no hope at all in this, only rank despair. I could envisage no means to thwart Allanyn or escape her clutches. I thought that did she learn we’d communed with the crystal, we were surely dead. And Urt, for he must be discovered. I wondered suddenly if he knew these secrets or only suspected. I said, “We must warn Urt. Is he convinced of Allanyn’s treachery, perhaps he may rally others.”
“Aye,” Rwyan gave me back, “and still there’s Tezdal. And the pattern.”
The pattern! Almost I wished I’d not spun out that fancy, for it now seemed to me no more than that—a Storyman’s fable, one of those tales we spin for the entertainment of children. Like Jarrold’s Magic Pig or Ealyn’s Wondrous Boat. I thought perhaps Rwyan clung to belief as prop to waning hope, the need to believe greater than the reality. The pattern! I could weave a pattern at will, from my imagination. Now I looked at reality, and all I could see were threads unraveling, the strands of our lives dwindling like yarn set in flame.