The Way of Light

by Storm Constantine

  The most astonishing thing to Varencienne was that they managed to communicate their needs to the Hamagarids without the use of spoken language. It was all done with gestures and simple tone of voice. When a smile appeared on a dour Hamagarid face, it was a reward equal to a bowl of goat’s milk or a hunk of sour cheese. Language had always been Varencienne’s most useful tool and she felt it opened her up to different parts of herself to be denied it. This did not mean she enjoyed the situation, however.

  Only two weeks after their journey had begun, her previous life was a dream; that she had once lived in a castle, with servants and every comfort her husband’s wealth could buy. Her beautiful hands were ruined, the nails ragged and dirty. She had no makeup, so she felt she must look hideous. Her hair was always filthy, so she wore it wound up on her head. She had to squat in the forest to relieve herself like an animal. The onset of a menstrual period was a nightmare. She had to make herself pads from leaves, which she tore up and wadded together to create a little absorbency. Surely the men could smell her though. It was disgusting. Life became a minute by minute struggle for survival. Comfort derived from the smallest thing, like finding a wild plum tree still hung with some of last year’s fruits, sweetened and softened by winter’s claw. Insects had been at the plums, and birds, but as the sweet gritty pulp exploded with flavour in Varencienne’s mouth, she did not care. If she found a wind-break den of rhododendron for the night, it was the most exciting news she could give her travelling companions. A dead rabbit became not an object of disgust, but a mouth-watering welcome sight. Surely she should hate Shan and Taropat for what they’d done to her? But as the days went by, they melded into a surrogate family and she had to remind herself forcibly that she was not on this journey by choice and that the men who’d abducted her were nothing more than criminals. She wondered if Valraven would ever find her. She might vanish into the wilderness of Hamagara and never be seen again.

  At first Varencienne had refused to work at the settlements they visited, but circumstances eventually changed her mind. Desperate to stop feeling so cold, she learned how to milk goats and repair garments, so that the stout, silent Hamagarid women would pay her in clothing. Now she was dressed in a thick homespun tunic and voluminous skirt in dark greens and browns, over which she wore a bulky woollen coat. It was hardly attractive garb, but kept out the cold and was effective camouflage in the wild. Varencienne never took these garments off. Bathing was a sweet memory. She could not bear to think of undressing herself in the chill air to bathe in the icy streams and lakes of Hamagara.

  Ellony also worked readily. She would chatter to the farm children, even though they could not understand a word she said, nor she them. However, after only a short time, she had learned a few Hamagarid phrases, which she taught to her mother. The Hamagarid children liked to stroke Ellony’s face, where the skin was so much lighter than their own. It seemed they thought it must feel different too. Ellony would chuckle with pleasure at this attention. She was changing into someone else, someone more confident and outgoing.

  One afternoon, after their work was done, Varencienne, Ellony and Shan went for a walk together down a steep hillside below the farm where they were staying. Only a short time ago, Varencienne would have refused Shan’s company on principle, but now he was the nearest she had to a friend. They sat down on the sweet meadow grass, while Ellony scampered around them, lost in her private make-believe. Varencienne gazed at the landscape, its soaring heights and shadowed depths. The colours were so pure, the air like an essence of magic. Hamagara could be the otherworld reflection of Caradore, if that were possible. It shared the same topography, but here everything was more extreme. For just a moment, Varencienne sensed a purpose to everything – why she was there, what she would learn from it – and the feeling unnerved her.

  ‘Why are we doing this?’ she said abruptly ‘Where are we going? What’s the point?’

  Shan looked up at her lazily, as if emerging from a dream. ‘We are going to High Hamagara,’ he replied, ‘and there we will discover something important.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ Varencienne said. ‘I have lost myself.’ She gestured angrily at her clothes. ‘Look at me. I am destroyed. Is this Taropat’s revenge?’

  ‘You are not destroyed,’ Shan said, ‘you are very beautiful, more so than you were when I first saw you.’

  ‘You’re perverse,’ Varencienne said. ‘I look like a bog-grubber.’

  Shan snorted in laughter. ‘I don’t believe you’ve ever seen a ‘bog-grubber’! I prefer a woman who looks and smells like a woman, rather than some powdered, primped and corseted doll.’

  The reference to smell made Varencienne blush. ‘I was asking neither for your opinion or approval,’ she said, looking away from him. ‘It’s how I feel about myself that matters.’

  ‘This is real life,’ Shan said. ‘How most people live. How you used to live, how you looked, isn’t real.’

  ‘I will ascribe to my own version of reality, thank you,’ Varencienne said stiffly. ‘Why should your peasant existence become mine?’ As soon as she uttered the words, she realised how rude and arrogant they sounded. Shan had shown her kindness, whereas Taropat, who came from noble stock, treated her with contempt.

  Shan did not respond to her remark, but his silence was eloquent.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Varencienne said. ‘That sounded like a true Malagash.’

  Shan merely stared at her darkly, refusing to comply with her lighter tone.

  ‘I didn’t choose this for myself,’ she said. ‘Can you blame me for resenting it? And don’t say this is a salient lesson in harsh reality, from which I shall march forth enlightened and changed.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Shan said. ‘I don’t resent you for the privileges you had, and I don’t blame you for missing them.’ He grinned fiercely. ‘You see, I am a noble savage! I lived at Queen Neferishu’s court in Mewt, so I’ve had a taste of that life. I looked upon Neferishu as a friend. Given the choice, I would probably be back there now.’

  Varencienne rolled onto her stomach and rested her chin in her hands. ‘Then why aren’t you? Why follow Taropat’s mad dreams? If the queen of Mewt favours you, I’d imagine you could have an extremely comfortable life there. Also, you were a friend of Darris Maycarpe. It makes no sense to me, the path you’ve chosen. Surely you’ve alienated your powerful friends, and for what?’

  Shan sighed through his nose, his hands dangling between his knees. For a while, he contemplated the ground between them, then said, ‘It isn’t easy to explain. I have seen and experienced things that few people do. When the Crown was revealed to us at Recolletine, it changed my life. I had a vision of all that could be. Taropat is damaged and eccentric, but his drive and determination led us on our quest. I believe there is redemption for all of us in the future. The ideals behind the Crown exist, because we can imagine them. The True King is a symbol of all that is good in humanity. If I found him, I would serve him unquestionably, even if he were your son, a Malagash and a Palindrake.’

  ‘But what if it was my husband?’

  ‘No,’ said Shan. ‘It is not him.’

  ‘You make inferences with only half the facts,’ Varencienne said. ‘Valraven was as damaged as Taropat is, but he overcame some of his dilemmas.’

  ‘He still serves the empire.’

  ‘He finds it difficult to believe in magic,’ Varencienne said, with a rueful smile. ‘If he could only let go of his disbelief and merely experience the legacy of his blood, he might not serve the empire so willingly. He believes he has no power and that he is doing what is right to keep his family safe.’

  Shan hesitated, then said, ‘Do you miss him?’

  ‘No,’ Varencienne replied at once, ‘because I do not believe we are apart. Valraven will not cease looking for us. He will find us.’

  ‘You speak of a great love.’

  ‘If you think that,’ said Varencienne, ‘you know little of love. Val
and I are friends. We are family. I suppose I am like a sister to him.’

  ‘Given what I have heard of him and his sister, it seems his relationships are somewhat mixed up.’

  Varencienne laughed. ‘I can imagine what people think, and I expect Taropat has imparted the most grisly version of the tale to you. I think differently. I like to believe that in another life, Val and Pharinet weren’t related, but were lovers. They cannot help what their souls feel now or, I should say, used to feel. After what happened to Ellony, Khaster’s sister, Val ended the physical relationship with Pharinet. I have always found that very sad, for they shared the great love you spoke of. I wouldn’t have minded if Val had wanted to continue his relationship with Pharry, but he doesn’t. He feels guilty for it, not because they were related, but because it helped destroy his first wife.’

  ‘You are trying to give me another picture of him, aren’t you,’ Shan said. ‘I am not so easily swayed.’

  ‘You have never met Val,’ Varencienne said, ‘so your opinion of him derives solely from Taropat’s. Surely it is better to form judgements from more than one opinion?’

  ‘Palindrake is Dragon Lord of the empire. That fact speaks for itself.’

  ‘And you are a kidnapper.’ Once again, Shan did not respond. Varencienne smiled to herself. She had learned that he was quite adept at hurt silences. She rolled over onto her back and stared up at the sky. Huge clouds massed against the distant peaks. ‘Look at that,’ she said, pointing at the horizon. ‘It’s easy to see why people imagine that gods live in the mountains. They ooze a strange, supernatural energy. And we are going therec’

  ‘It is alien territory for both of us,’ Shan said. ‘You must have faith in the future. Something will happen to us there.’

  ‘We know so little about it, and what we do know does not inspire confidence. We may be killed on sight.’

  Shan laughed. ‘Do you really believe your magnificent history could be ended quietly? You are still part of the world, Varencienne Palindrake, even when you are hidden in one of its wildest corners. If anything, you are our insurance for survival.’

  She laughed. ‘I feel greatly reassured by your confidence!’

  Shan was quiet for a moment, then said, ‘There’s something I’ve wanted to ask youc’

  ‘Aha,’ she said, ‘and you fear my response, clearly. Ask me. Go on.’

  ‘Why did you bow down to Taropat when you first saw him?’

  Varencienne had been ready to make a jovial reply to whatever Shan might say, believing it would involve some shy admission of his admiration for her. Her laughter died in her throat and she went momentarily cold. ‘Is that what it looked like?’

  ‘Yes. That’s what it was.’

  ‘I see.’ She stared at him for a while. ‘Very well, I will share something with you, but please respect its confidential nature.’

  He coloured. ‘Of course!’

  ‘It sounds ridiculous now, but at one time I admired Khaster Leckery very much. I’d never met him, of course, and I was young and full of romantic fancies. When I saw his face, which before I’d only ever seen in paintings, I was taken back for a short while, that’s all. As I said, it’s ridiculous.’

  ‘But he’s not Khaster.’

  ‘I know that now.’

  Shan chewed the inside of his cheek. ‘Do you still feel the same about him?’

  ‘Of course not, the man’s a pompous, overbearing and arrogant fool.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to see you hurt,’ Shan said. ‘You are ac unique person, Ren. I feel privileged to have met you, to be here with you now. I would defend you with my life.’

  Varencienne stared at him, and for a moment sensed a connection between them. She felt she could see into the future or the past. ‘I know you,’ she said.

  Shan returned her stare. ‘Do you?’

  The air seemed to hum between them, as if the energy of the mountains had poured down upon them like an avalanche, engulfed them in its flow. We are not here, we are not now, Varencienne thought. Unconsciously, she had moved towards Shan, aware of a high pitched sound reverberating through her head. She would reach out to him, touch him, unify the chaotic moments of past and future.

  Then Taropat’s voice came stridently across the meadow. ‘Shan! Come here!’

  Varencienne drew in her breath sharply. The moment was broken, but she could tell that Shan still sensed it and was perplexed by it. ‘You’d better go,’ she said.

  Shan jumped to his feet and ran through the sweet grass towards his mentor. Varencienne rose slowly and ambled along behind. She called to Ellony, who paused, alert, like a startled animal, half hidden by spiky shrubs covered in scarlet flowers.

  Taropat had summoned Shan because a pilgrimage of holy men had paused to refresh themselves at the farm. They were on their way to Hanana, the holy city of the Hamagarid peaks for an annual ceremony, celebrating the marriage of Paraga and the earth goddess, Venotishi. By the time Varencienne and Ellony reached the well at the centre of the community, Taropat was already deep in conversation with these men. They were frightening to behold, like mad shamans from some primitive tribe, who would cast evil spells and perhaps sacrifice and eat people. They were led by an ascetic sage called Snopard, who was dressed in filthy brown rags, his bare feet as hard as hooves. And yet, despite this attire, he was adorned with a treasury of jewellery: multiple strands of beads fashioned from semi-precious stones hung from his neck to his knees. His ears were pierced a dozen times by heavy hoops of gold, fashioned into the shape of serpents. Gold bangles gloved his arms to the elbow, inlaid with malachite and jade. His eyes were like black opals, nearly hidden by the matted locks of hair that fell over his face and which covered his back like a rough shawl. His three acolytes were similar in appearance, but minus the adornments.

  Snopard could speak a pidgin form of Caradorean, which Taropat was able to understand. To Varencienne it sounded like gibberish. Occasionally, while he spoke, his companions would burst into spontaneous song, throwing up their arms and wailing like lamenting women. Ellony laughed in delight at this, but Varencienne saw only madness in their behaviour.

  The householders had brought out a meal for their visitors and it was obvious they held the travellers in high esteem, because much bowing and gesturing was going on. Snopard, clearly interested more in Taropat, ignored the obeisances and sacred genuflections. Possibly, he was so used to this behaviour he barely noticed it. To Varencienne, it appeared that Snopard was angry with Taropat, for his speech was harsh and punctuated by emphatic air-punching and facial grimaces. However, once Taropat deigned to approach her and Shan, he was obviously pleased with the interview.

  ‘Snopard is a great holy man,’ he said, ‘and is happy to allow us to accompany his party to Hanana. This will save us considerable time. I have learned of the boy king that rules there, named Aranepa, who is an incarnation of Paraga. He, surely, must be the one I saw in my vision. We must go to him.’

  Varencienne eyed the holy men shrewdly. They were now consuming voraciously the relatively sumptuous repast that had been presented to them. ‘They look as if they’d slit our throats in the night,’ she said.

  Taropat made a dismissive sound. ‘I’m not surprised you judge people by appearances,’ he said pompously. ‘These men are Par Sen adepti, known as Nugrids. It is true that they are warrior shamans, but they will not kill us for gain, only if we cross them, or should someone else pay them for the service.’

  ‘I am much assured,’ Varencienne said dryly. She noticed that Ellony had sidled up to the Nugrids and appeared to be paying great attention to their guttural exchanges. From what Varencienne could tell, they now conversed in Hamagarid. ‘Elly, come here!’

  Her daughter looked up slyly from beneath her lashes and then helped herself to a hunk of dark bread, which had been laid out on a platter before Snopard.

  ‘For Foy’s sake!’ Varencienne muttered under her breath and made to go forward an
d drag her daughter away.

  Taropat grabbed hold of her arm to restrain her. ‘No, let the child do as she pleases. She will learn much for us.’

  ‘She is not your servant!’ Varencienne snapped.’

  ‘Indeed not,’ Taropat said reasonably, ‘but she has a way with these people. Haven’t you noticed? Perhaps it is because she is so young, but the Hamagarids take to Elly easily, more so than they do to the rest of us.’

  It was the first time Taropat had referred to the girl by that name, at least in front of her mother. ‘Is she like your sister?’ Varencienne spat cruelly.

  Taropat considered for a moment, then said, ‘No, she is a wise little thing, like an elemental or a changeling. My sister was naïve in all respects. I have no doubt that if your daughter had been in her place all those years ago, she would not have perished. Exactly what she might have changed into, however, I dare not conjecture. She has no fear.’

  ‘Not in this place,’ Varencienne said, ‘but she was a different child in Magrast believe me. The city intimidated her.’

  ‘Then she rises in my estimation again.’