The Way of Light

by Storm Constantine

  Tatrini thought so too. She smiled upon her grandson and said, ‘You are a strong little man, aren’t you? Where you first came here, you were afraid, while Leo was not. Now, after all you have seen, it is you who is the most fearless.’

  The Grand Queen Mother’s words warmed Rav, but in some ways he wished she hadn’t said them, because Leo wouldn’t like it. ‘I was afraid,’ he said, ‘through all of it. I was afraid of the blue woman.’

  Tatrini leaned down. ‘You saw her?’

  Rav nodded, looking at Tayven. ‘She walked through me.’

  Tatrini took hold of Rav’s shoulder. ‘You had a vision,’ she said excitedly. ‘What happened?’

  Again, Rav glanced at Tayven, whose expression was bland, but he sensed an imperative deep within Tayven’s eyes. There was no reason why he should obey it, but instinctively Rav opted for offering only part of the story. ‘I thought I was standing next to Tayven’s throne, then a blue woman appeared. I was thrown up into the air, and when I came down again, I was back on my throne.’

  ‘This is marvellous,’ Tatrini said. ‘What about you, Leo? What did you see?’

  ‘Everything went blurred,’ Leo said in a low, miserable voice. ‘I saw a mass of colours and the air becamec hard. I could barely breathe.’

  Tatrini turned round. ‘Bayard?’

  The prince uncurled himself slowly. It was clearly difficult for him to muster much dignity, given what had just occurred. ‘Something happened,’ he said, in what Rav took to be a falsely haughty tone. ‘I sensed movement, but saw little. A power came and took me by the throat. Like Leo, I could barely breathe.’

  ‘But neither of you sensed the power of the element you represent?’

  ‘The whole ritual seemed concentrated on Tayven,’ Bayard said dryly, ‘but that is hardly surprising.’

  ‘What about you, Rav?’ Tatrini asked. ‘Did you feel the presence of the sea dragons?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Rav answered.

  ‘Perhaps it will take time to invoke all the elements,’ Tatrini said. ‘Tonight, we had success with air. That is a satisfactory first step.’ She clasped her hands together and smiled upon Rav and Leo. ‘Well, both you young men had better get back to bed. You might have some interesting dreams, in which case, make sure you remember them. It would be best to note them down. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  She turned to her elder son. ‘Bayard, I will instruct Master Dark to escort Tayven back to his quarters. You may return separately to yours.’

  Rav thought the forced smile on Bayard’s face was full of cracks. ‘You had better know what you are doing, mother,’ he said.

  Rav crept back to his bed, wishing that Leo could stay with him. Alone in the dark, he felt both wide awake and exhausted. He didn’t want to think about what had happened that night, because it made the dark come alive with unseen spirits, but thoughts and images filled his mind. Foy had been an almost comforting presence in the Fire Chamber, but now the idea of her was terrifying. She could be hiding in any shadow, her great eyes fixed upon him. Rav burrowed beneath the bedclothes, where the sound of his own breathing was too loud. He was cold, yet his body was sweating, as he mulled over the confusing events of the evening. Gastern was emperor, so what was all this talk of new kings? It looked like Tayven wanted to crown Valraven as king, but he was pretending to support Bayard. It made no sense whatsoever. Why couldn’t people tell the truth?

  When at last Rav did fall asleep, he was assailed by a strange dream of enormous creatures flying around the moon. He stood upon a cliff top near his old home, watching a ghostly ship sail down a road of moonlight towards him. He knew that the ship carried someone who was dangerous and frightening. He called out to the spectral shapes in the sky. They must be sea dragons and therefore they must help him. But they continued to spiral lazily around each other and now they had transformed into gigantic women with wings that looked like the fins of fishes.

  A voice murmured in Rav’s head. ‘Think carefully before you call upon my daughters for aid, Dragon Heir. They are the dragon daughters and few may command them.’

  At once the women in the sky turned towards him. They swam through the air, their limbs parting the vapour that surrounded them. They were laughing.

  Now, the ship and whoever travelled in it seemed far less of a threat. Rav realised he should not have attracted the attention of the dragon daughters, because it meant they knew him and would recognise him again.

  ‘Go away!’ he cried, waving his arms at them.

  The dragon daughters, smaller now, circled round him. Their laughter was cruel and he could tell they delighted in torment. One after another, they rushed at him, causing him to cringe away, but they did not touch him. Their faces were both beautiful and hideous. He could see that the insides of their mouths were black and their teeth were pointed.

  ‘I am Misk,’ said one. ‘Speak my name, little man.’

  ‘And I am Jia,’ said another. ‘Let me hear it on your lips.’

  ‘And I am Thrope,’ said the third. ‘Sing my name to me.’

  Instinctively, Rav knew that the last thing he should do was speak the names of these demonesses. In desperation, he spluttered, ‘Get the ship! Get the ship!’

  The dragon daughters did not even glance towards the sea. ‘Do not fear it,’ Jia said.

  ‘It will never reach you,’ said Thrope.

  ‘Give us something better to do,’ said Misk. ‘I am she who once lived within your father, but he cast me out at the old domain. I miss him so badly. I miss the warmth of flesh. Let me in, Dragon Heir. Let me lie comfortably in your skin. I can show you such delights.’

  ‘We are your slaves,’ said Jia. ‘Can’t you see how we adore you?’

  Rav was not comforted by these words: they might be true, but the love of the dragon daughters was a very dangerous thing. They were circling closer now, reaching out to brush his body with their clawed fingertips. He was surrounded by them.

  Then the sea erupted beneath the cliff and an immense dragon of coral and weed and broken ships lifted from the threshing maelstrom of water. She spread her ragged wings against the sky and moonlight shone through their rents and tears.

  ‘Great mother! Mighty Foy!’ cried Misk and backed away from Rav, followed by her sisters.

  The dragon queen swept towards the cliff top and hung in the sky on slowly beating wings. ‘I begin to wake!’ she roared. ‘Someone wakes me! Who defiles my endless sleep?’

  At once, Rav was awake in his own bed, sitting upright. His panting breath steamed on the cold air. His ears echoed with Foy’s booming voice. The light in the room was a grey twilight, for dawn was soon to break.

  Rav put his face into his hands and wept. He had awoken Foy, because his grandmother had made him do it. Now the dragon queen was angry. She might come for him. He couldn’t control her: he didn’t know how. Should he speak to his father about this? Surely Valraven would laugh at him and say it was only a dream. Rav certainly couldn’t talk about what he’d witnessed in the old Fire Chamber. Tatrini would be furious. Glumly, Rav wiped his face and waited for the sun to rise. He had never felt so alone.

  Chapter Twelve: A Voice From the Aethyrs

  Sinaclara woke abruptly in the early dawn. Outside, a storm raged against the house, and an open window had slammed against its casement. Sinaclara rose from her bed and went to close it. She felt disorientated, slightly threatened. It was as if the storm had evoked a nightmare that she had already forgotten. Strange, the weather had been so mild when she’d gone to bed. Now, it was as if winter had come again. Shivering, she put on a woollen robe over her night gown. She would go down to the kitchens and warm herself some milk, perhaps fortified by a measure of good Jessapurian liqueur.

  Beyond her room, the house was in utter darkness. All the oil lamps had been turned off, which was unusual because Nana, Sinaclara’s assistant and housekeeper, generally kept the lights burning low throughout the night. In a
house of magic, a Jessapurian such as Nana would leave no shadowed corner where a demon, fetch or djinn might hide. Sinaclara had no means of lighting the lamps with her, so had to feel her way down the stairs. She hoped there was nothing wrong. Her honed senses detected no untoward atmosphere, yet it was odd that the lamps were out.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she noticed that the door to her sitting room was ajar, and that light showed beyond it. Nana could be in there, but it was rare for her to be up so late. Sinaclara went to the door and pushed it wide. A fire was lit in the hearth, and ranks of candles burned around the room on every available surface. Someone was sitting in the armchair beside the hearth.

  ‘Nana?’ Sinaclara said. It could be any one of her Jessapurian staff, but this was not usual behaviour for them. The figure was shadowy. She could discern no recognisable features, but neither was there any chill or peculiarity in the atmosphere that might suggest a supernatural visitor.

  Cautiously, Sinaclara ventured forward. In her mind, she conjured a caul of protective white light around herself. Only when she faced the chair could she see who sat upon it: a man with long pale hair.

  ‘Tayven!’ she cried. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Tayven looked up at her with a severe expression. ‘They will come for you, Clara. You must take care of the Crown. It is vital.’

  ‘Who will come for me? What do you mean?’ Sinaclara scraped her sleep-mussed hair back from her face. She was always alert for threats in the aether and had felt nothing unusual recently, but now Tayven had come to her from Mewt. It was a long journey. He would not undertake it without good reason. Maycarpe should have sent a psychic message to her.

  ‘Tatrini, who was empress,’ Tayven said. ‘She knows of the Crown and will come for it.’

  ‘How does she know of it?’ Sinaclara demanded. ‘What has happened?’

  ‘She has taken me captive,’ Tayven said. ‘I have only a short time here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sinaclara reached out impulsively to touch Tayven, but at the moment before her fingers made contact, she drew back. This was not a creature of flesh and blood. She could see it now: the translucence to the skin, the faint glow around the whole figure.

  ‘Leave this place,’ Tayven said. ‘Hide the Crown. Protect yourself.’

  ‘Tayven,’ Sinaclara said, ‘you must tell me more.’

  At that moment, every door and window in the house opened and slammed shut simultaneously. The room filled with a cold, noxious wind. Sinaclara’s hair was blown into her eyes. She struggled to push it back, her body buffeted by hectic air. Then everything became abruptly still.

  Panting, Sinaclara peered at the chair. The candles and the fire had blown out, but even in the meagre blue-light of predawn, she could see there was no one sitting there.

  A noise behind her made her jump. Instinctively, she drew a symbol of protection on the air, but when she turned, it was to see Nana’s tall dark figure in the doorway.

  The Jessapurian held a lamp. She looked perplexed. ‘My lady, what is going on?’

  ‘Someone was here,’ said Sinaclara, belting her robe more tightly. ‘Tayven Hirantel. A fetch of him. The room was ablaze with candle light. There was a fire.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nana. ‘I had lit them myself. I intended to perform a short rite to Tali-ma, goddess of storms, for the gale last night had spirits within it. There is something afoot.’

  Sinaclara felt suddenly chilled. ‘We must check the Crown,’ she said, and almost pushing Nana aside, hurried from the room.

  She and the Jessapurian went down to the lower basement far beneath the house. Here, behind seven locked doors was a strong-room, within it a safe bound by physical locks as well as magical charms. Filled with dread, Sinaclara deactivated all the protective locks. She held her breath as she opened the heavy door. The only object inside was wrapped in a dark blue cloth. Carefully, she removed it, and held it out to Nana, who undid the wrappings. Within, lay the coralline Crown of Silence.

  Sinaclara exhaled deeply and bowed her head in relief. ‘Tayven warned me that the empress has discovered the existence of the Crown. She must also know I am associated with it. The artefact must be taken to safety without delay.’

  ‘Jessapur,’ said Nana. ‘You know I have contacts at the king’s court. You will be safe there.’

  ‘No,’ Sinaclara said. ‘I must go to Mewt. Maycarpe may not know that Tayven is held by Tatrini. The Mewtish priests can protect me as well as the Jessapurian magi.’

  Nana nodded shortly. ‘That is true, but Mewt is more accessible to Magravandias than Jessapur. I would feel happier knowing you were under my people’s protection.’

  ‘So would I,’ said Sinaclara, ‘but I am sure I must go to Mewt, even if it is more dangerous. Mewt is the heart of the world. If events are beginning to unfold concerning the destiny of the Crown, it must be taken to the Womb of Power.’

  ‘I will accompany you,’ said Nana.

  Sinaclara smiled ruefully. ‘I should say I must go alone, but your company would be most welcome, Nana.’

  ‘If forces of the empire come to the house, the rest of the staff will be in danger.’

  ‘Then we must close it up,’ Sinaclara said. She looked around the little room. ‘My house will be violated, but we must let it happen. The rest of the staff must return to Jessapur for a time.’

  ‘This house is eternal,’ Nana said. ‘You need not worry. All will be restored one day.’

  Sinaclara sighed heavily. ‘But perhaps not in my life time.’ She mustered her strength. ‘Still, there’s no point in being sentimental. We must begin preparations at once.’

  Chapter Thirteen: The Magic of High Hamagara

  It was clear to Varencienne that Taropat had thought very little about the practicalities of living rough with a woman and child, especially those who were used to comfortable living. Ellony did not complain, and didn’t appear to feel the cold, but Varencienne was far from pleased about having to sleep in thickets, caves or ruins. She hated not being able to bathe properly, loathed the food and her clothes were soon filthy and torn. Taropat was driven, allowing them the minimum of rest.

  ‘He was like this on the lakes quest,’ Shan said. ‘Once he’s got a goal in mind, he’s unstoppable.’

  Varencienne considered whether she should attempt to escape. The further they travelled from Caradore, the more difficult this would become. But she did not know the route home, other than to travel south, and the way would be fraught with obstacles and dangers. Was it best for Ellony if they remained passively with their captors, or was she deceiving herself and just opting for the easiest course? While Shan was obviously concerned for her welfare, he did not react favourably to her suggestion that he should escort them home and receive a reward for his endeavour. He was astounded that Varencienne was not as excited and intrigued about their journey to High Hamagara as he and Taropat were.

  Ellony did not share her mother’s doubts. It made Varencienne’s heart clench to see how the child was so grateful for any attention Taropat would give her. And he, this enigma of a man: what were his true feelings? Why was it so difficult for her to believe in his prickly and pompous exterior? Shan was happy to answer Varencienne’s questions and told her everything he knew about Khaster’s strange transformation into the magus Taropat. If it were true, then Taropat had effectively stolen only Khaster’s face. The man who lived within the flesh was someone completely different. But sometimes a ghost seemed to stand in his place.

  One evening, as Shan built a camp fire, Varencienne had watched Taropat climb a nearby spur of rock to scan their surroundings. As he stood tall against the sky, one hand shading his eyes, while his hair blew free in long strands from the cord at his neck, she thought she caught a glimpse of the person Pharinet had married. Here was the man who had existed before Magrast had crushed his spirit, who should have gone on to become a wealthy landowner, caring for his land and the people under his prote
ction. Khaster must have been weak to have been beaten and destroyed so easily. Other men, such as Valraven himself, underwent terrible trauma, wrestling with the darker side of themselves as with a demon, but they emerged from their experiences cleansed and renewed: better people. In comparison, Khaster had gone rotten: resentful, peevish and vengeful. It was ridiculous that he could call himself a great magus.

  The further north they travelled, they outran spring, which dawdled behind them. The air became colder, and the land was shrouded in a seething mist that rarely dissipated, even when the sun shone. The path headed ever upwards, towards mountains that were hidden by fog, but whose oppressive eternal presence nevertheless dominated the landscape. A forest closed in upon the path. To Varencienne, the primordial trees were like an army of gargantuan, implacable warriors. Sometimes, when she and the others made camp, they would hear great boughs crashing down nearby, as if the forest were advising them how easily it could crush them, should it desire to do so.

  Varencienne was always cold, and feared they must die of exposure if they continued to travel with so few supplies. Shan and Taropat hunted small animals for food, and taught Ellony and her mother which plants and berries were edible. Ellony, impatient with this women’s work, persuaded Shan to teach her how to hunt. Varencienne did not enjoy the unbridled blood lust on her daughter’s face when she brought her first rabbit for inspection. She was like a cat bringing a dead rat to the hearth, expecting praise, but Varencienne felt like a disgusted cat owner: she could have cheerfully pushed Ellony away with a broom.

  The land was sparsely inhabited. Occasionally, they would come across a farm, if you could so dignify the mean, thatched hovels they encountered. The farms were really small villages, built either in cleared areas of forest or else on the occasional sweep of valley meadow that occasionally opened up among the trees. The people were surly, dark-skinned and closed-faced, but generally offered a frugal meal and overnight accommodation in the meagre lean-tos, where their goats and hens spent the night. By this point, Varencienne would eagerly have traded all her jewellery for a clean, warm room, but the Low Hamagarid farmers had no interest in jewels. They would accept a payment of labour, which meant Shan had to work for them. Taropat rarely got his fingers dirty, but his charisma ensured that the superstitious Hamaragids believed him to be a foreign magician. Sometimes, he would work protective magic to purge demons from their houses and land, but only sometimes. When Varencienne questioned him about this, he explained that they might need his reputation later, and that as news would travel fast through the countryside, it would not do if he was seen as too accommodating. His magic would be regarded as stronger if he was selective about when he worked it.