by Peter Harris
‘We should go on now, try to find a place to camp on the other side of the pass,’ said Korman, wearily.
‘What’s wrong with right here?’ said Shelley, stretching and yawning.
‘I will feel safer within the margins of the Ürxura’s land, out of sight of Baldrock.’
‘It feels safe enough here in this nice sleepy little hollow,’ she yawned. She was already doggedly unpacking her sleeping bag and tent. Korman sighed, and gave in.
‘Very well, since you are so tired – and I am weary, too. I feel a tension I have not felt since the night before the battle of the Canyon. Perhaps it is nothing; perhaps it is my old migraines returning. But we must light no fire tonight, nor leave the shelter of this crater.’
So in spite of Korman’s misgivings they made camp there for the night.
‘Korman, did you really get migraines?’ said Shelley after they had eaten.
‘Yes. It was the strain of different thoughts and commands conflicting within me, after I became an outcast and was called by the Lady. A Guardian does not easily forget his training, or recover from being cast out of the Order. But I worked out a peace between the transcendent Concept and the immanent Goddess, the Heavens and the Earth. Or so I thought; but this headache says otherwise!’
‘My father had migraines. Bad ones. I wonder what inner conflicts he had? Nothing like yours, I bet!’
‘No, I expect not.’
‘I hope you get better.’
‘Thank you. I still have some willowbark left. And I will do my meditation.
‘OK, good night!’ She crawled into her tent and wriggled into her sleeping bag. Listening to Korman’s singing bowl, she thought about her father and his conflicts, and missed him, even though he was not her real father. She wished that she could talk to him, now she had learnt so much more of life. She knew he hated a lot about ‘modern’ life on Earth. ‘That was why he married mum – he saw something of Faery in her. He would like it here - I think. And she would just love it – if it wasn’t for the Aghmaath. And the thorns – she can’t stand thorns! And yet she grows roses…’ Her mind wandered into thorny thickets that bloomed with red roses, then writhed with grotesque faces as she sank exhausted into a deep sleep.
The light slowly faded from the sky and the stars came out. Though his head was clearing in the cold air, Korman was still troubled. He was not sure why. He lifted Arcratíne by its jewelled hilt and let it drop into the soft earth at the bottom of the hollow, then knelt down to listen. He heard the wind in the pines on the spur above, and a rock slithering down the gully below, but nothing to be alarmed at. He heard the rumour of Hithrax’s Trackers somewhere in the wilds between the hollow and Baldrock, but they still felt distant enough. ‘We will be safely within the realm of the Ürxura by the time Hithrax comes here,’ he thought.
His mind reached out into the five points of Namaglimmë, the Sacred Island of Aeden, and back to the Centre, the Tor Enyása where Rakmad wove his webs of deceit, and he knew that Rakmad was waiting intently for him to show himself. ‘I cannot risk using the Vapáglim, then. He may already know that I have it, now that Hillgard is taken and will be mindprobed. At least I can weave a mindweb over this hollow,’ he thought. He sat and warmed the lightcrystal on his staff, wrapping his hands around the carved branches that protected it, charging it with his life-force until it glowed. Then, using the staff as focus for the mindweb-weaving he began, quietly chanting as he worked his way around the perimeter. When that was finished, he prayed for the Lady in the thorns, and for Hillgard his brother, and all those taken by the enemy. Then a darkness and drowsiness came over his aching eyes, and he fell forward and slept under the shadow of his sword in the starlight.
The night was still, and the dew lay on Korman’s hair and beard as he slept. Then a strange dream came to him. He thought that he awoke with a splitting migraine, and saw that Arcratíne was glowing, and out of the hilt came the bright image of a Salamander, its piercing ruby eyes fixed on him. There were no spoken words – that is not the way of the Salamander – but into his mind burned thoughts that purged and probed like fiery fingers: ‘Korman! Behold, Arcratíne your sword! Once it was crystal in the fire; then the fire and the crystal became one at its forging, and you were given it to protect the Tree and its Jewel.
‘But you failed as a Guardian, and were made an Outcast. Then one more time you failed, when you sought to protect the Lady, the Rose of Aeden, with its fire, and your right arm was withered.
‘Now, look! It is a new day, when you yourself will become as this sword, whole and one, and in you the Fire and the Rose will be one. Only then will you be worthy to wield the fiery sword.’
Korman awoke from his sleep, his head pounding, and he saw that his sword was indeed glowing, and flames were rising up its length. The Salamander was twisted about it, wreathed in flames, exactly as in the dream, as it is pictured in the Guardian Talisman. Its eyes glowed red, its body was fiery gold. He felt that his own body burned too, with a pure fire that did not scorch, but burned away all his lesser thoughts, his doubts and conflicts, all his weariness, and the pain from his head. He felt new life flowing through his right arm like fire. He flexed his fingers, marvelling.
Shelley woke up with a start to see Korman kneeling before Arcratíne. It was glowing, and Korman, his back to her, was illuminated by it, or perhaps he was glowing too. She did not see the tears that ran down his cheeks; but she saw that this was a sacred visitation. ‘Maybe You are appearing to him?’ she whispered in thought to the Lady.
She heard in reply a voice, clear and cool as moonlight: ‘Korman will pass through the fire for you, the Kortana, if you hold to the path. Or, if you choose, you could go down to the protected land of the Ürxura Narábadrim, and remain there in peace.’
‘Who’s this?’ she found herself saying. ‘Why are you tempting me?’
‘Here in the mountains of fire the will is purified, and fateful choices made.’
‘I really don’t have to go on if I don’t want to?’
‘No, for you cannot be the Chosen One without choosing to be.’
Korman was still kneeling by the sword. Shelley thought about making that hard choice, whether in a dream or awake she did not know. All was quiet, and she was calm as she imagined the terrible dangers she would face if she chose to go on as the Kortana. It was as if it was all happening to someone else. She saw herself go on toward the Valley of Thorns – here the vision became veiled, and she felt a piercing sadness and loneliness. She saw herself go on alone – ‘No, not alone! Not without Korman! I couldn’t!’ she thought, and blocked the possibility from her mind.
Then she saw herself undergoing the mysterious initiation at Ürak Tara, and finally setting out on the perhaps hopeless quest for the Arcra-Achrha, the Lost Heartstone, and the seemingly impossible task of returning it to the Tree on the thorn-infested Tor Enyása, haunted by the sleepless Dreamcasters and the warriors of the Void. It was as if a different and better Shelley was doing it all, while she looked on.
‘It’s madness,’ she said aloud, flatly. ‘But I guess I’m going to do it, and that’s that. Someone’s got to; it might as well be me. Now I’ve come this far…’
Then it was as if she awoke from a dream, and her calmness and sense of the presence, and the Voice, and her braver self, all vanished, and she was just Shelley again. She felt the cold, and the pounding of her heart, and all her fears came crowding back. But they held little power over her now, somehow. The choice had been made; the higher Shelley was still there within her, and she would follow her.
Down the gully in the chill darkness, the hidden cave-mouths gaped black. Then they glowed with a red light as gaunt figures crept out, clutching firebrands in bony hands with untrimmed fingernails, long and stained. Their wild eyes gleamed blearily in the smoky light. Some had wounds all down their balding scalps and bare backs, from sleeping on beds of nails, the dried blood still clinging to their wrinkled skin. Others, flagellants, had whip-
marks on their backs. All carried crooked staves or wands, tipped with black stone. They filed out of the caves in silence and shuffled along the stony path up the gully.
In the hollow, Shelley was now wide awake, staring into the darkness. She became aware of Korman. He had risen to his feet and sheathed the sword. His peaceful face was alert as he came to her side.
‘Are you all right, Shelley?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, I guess. Thanks for asking. What about you?’
‘All is well, and will be very well – if we are true to the light and the love we are given!’
She looked at him. He was smiling, and looked so noble and true, she wanted to hug him tight, say she loved him, and tell him all about her vision. But she just returned his smile.
Then a chill crept over her, and the back of her neck prickled. There was something out there in the darkness surrounding the hollow. She heard a twig crack. She whispered, ‘There’s something out there, isn’t there? I can feel it.’ Korman nodded. The amber on his ring was glowing.
‘And whatever it is, it has seen through a mindweb. That is very worrying.’ From the depths of his pack, the anklebiter began growling.
Before they could think of escape, or Korman could get his staff, the hollow was surrounded. In the darkness firebrands flared, held aloft by old men with long grey hair and beards wearing nothing but loincloths, standing all around the lip of the crater. Shelley felt the intrusive power of dark and merciless minds beating down on her, searing her thoughts. Clutching Korman’s arm she backed down into the bottom of the crater. She tried to think of Faery, but she could not seem to remember it.
‘The Hermits of the Fire Hills!’ said Korman. ‘They have gone over to the enemy. Do not look into their eyes!’
But it was too late. Shelley was rooted to the spot, horrified. Now the hermits began a dreary chant to the Void,
Heth Ovo
Hetho Vo
Hethovo!
‘The Void! The Void!’ They raised their wands together. A blackness began to swirl around Shelley. She reeled, and Korman caught her, dragging her away from the centre of the hollow, where the darkness intensified until it was a black hole into pure nothingness. A hundred minds silently commanded: ‘Go to it! Go to the Void! Go!’ She began to crawl towards the blackness as it grew, a vortex of oblivion.
‘No more suffering! No more pain! No more choices!’ she heard herself thinking, and it seemed the best thing in the world to enter that pure nothingness.
Korman dived into his tent and came out holding up his staff. It seemed like a living thing. The triple crystal at its tip glittered like a bright eye in the glare of the hermits’ firebrands, and its twisted, polished jeweltree shaft was like silver sinews. Korman strode to the bottom of the hollow, now filled with the silent, terrible Void, a hole into nothingness. He whispered, ‘Run, I will blind them! Make for the pass!’
It seemed to Korman at that moment that the Lady appeared in the midst of the Void, dressed in sapphire blue, standing with arms outstretched in a wall of golden thorns which burned with fire but were not consumed, just as she did on the bridge over the Bottomless Canyon. This time she was looking straight at him, smiling and beckoning him in. With a great cry he strode forward and plunged his staff into the midst of the darkness. A searing burst of black light smote him and he covered his burning eyes, but too late. Blinded, he raised the staff with both hands, and plunged it into the earth. There was a sharp crack as the blackness vanished, and in its place a golden fire licked up the staff, lit up the crystal and arched over the hollow like a fountain of protecting light. The hermits’ firebrands went out in a blast of wind, and casting them aside they covered their eyes, tottering and stumbling like blind men, groping for Shelley.
‘Arxphare Orbalax! The Flame Unquenchable!’ one croaked, and for a second looked at the sight in wonder. But then he too turned and ran.
Shelley had not run from the hollow, but had hidden in the tent. Now she ran to Korman’s aid. He was holding his hands over his eyes.
‘I cannot see!’ he cried in agony. Shelley saw that his beard and hair were singed and his face and hands were blackened and peeling. The staff still stood, a flaming tree burning with miraculous fire in the centre of the hollow.
‘I’ll get your staff!’ she cried.
‘No! Leave it there! As long as it keeps burning, you may get away before the hermits return. They are powerful sorcerers. They will not stay away for long. They will come back for you. Why are you still here? I told you to fly! Go to the Ürxura. They will bear you to…’
‘I can’t leave you! What are you going to do? Just wait here for them?’
‘Hithrax is coming; I feel him near. Do you hear the Dagraath howling? I have been burned and blinded; Lady, forgive me! Now I must draw Arcratíne. I do not need to see to wield it! At least I will take some of them with me. Now run, Shelley!’ He began the Guardian war chant,
Hethür, Krithür, Shaktha!
Twice before she had heard those words as he began to draw his sword and break his vow. But this time Shelley was able to speak.
‘Don’t be crazy!’ she yelled. ‘You’re coming with me! Come on!’
She took his hand and dragged him out of the hollow, leaving behind all but the clothes they stood up in. Bootnip waddled after them, hackles bristling. He knew Korman’s pack was no refuge now. Still the staff of Korman flamed, and looking back Shelley saw that it seemed to bloom with fiery roses in the midst of the burning.
The hermits gathered about the hollow as close as they dared, to wait for the arrival of their great captain and his trackers. They did not have long to wait. Hithrax had seen the light and loped towards it with strides three times as long as a man’s, guessing that this could only be the rebel Korman’s doing. When they arrived on the scene the hermits’ new masters appeared to the miserable old men as angels of light, their chameleon skin glowing gold in the golden incandescence of Korman’s staff, and their Dagraath like fiery avengers about them. The oldest hermit knelt and bowed low before Hithrax, who seemed to him to tower like an archangel above him.
‘They have escaped and are fleeing!’ he croaked. ‘Forgive us, Lord, but they temporarily blinded us with the Flame Unqu…’
At that, Hithrax flicked a thorndagger from its sheath and stabbed the hermit’s heart, paralysing him. Then he motioned to the dogs, who tore out the hermit’s throat, and he died, still kneeling before Hithrax, who pushed his body aside saying, ‘The rest of you, follow the rebels! Do not kill them. They are wanted by His Emptiness, the Master of the Tor Enyása.’
‘The Void! The Void!’ they chanted, and shuffled away on bare, lacerated feet.
Hithrax opened a black tin shaped like an incense burner, and out flew his paralysing hornets. One stung a hermit, and he fell, tumbling down in mute anguish to the bottom of the gully, where the scavenger lizards were waiting; smelling death, they had come out of their holes.
Shelley, turning to look again when they reached the top of the pass, saw the pursuit by the light of the still-burning staff down in the hollow far below. She saw Hithrax halted at the rim of the crater, staggering back, seemingly blinded by the magical fire. But his Dagraath bounded heedlessly into the hollow and tore at Korman’s pack, looking for the anklebiter whose scent they had followed for so long. Then they leapt upon the staff and toppled it to the earth, biting and snapping at it, though it burned them and they yelped and howled. In seconds they had reduced it to splinters. The triple crystal lay incandescent on the ground as they snapped at it in rage, burning their noses. Suddenly it exploded in a shower of white-hot fragments, and the light went out.
Shelley told Korman what she had seen.
‘Alas, my staff! My crystal, Tarazüra!’ he cried.
‘What do we do now?’ asked Shelley in dismay.
‘Cover your face and body with your cloak! The hornets will be coming!’ Korman groaned. His pain was increasing now that the shock was wearing off. ‘And run!
I will follow as best I can.’
The downhill path was faint in the starlight, and Shelley was groping along almost as blindly as Korman, when she lost the path altogether. There were thick bushes all around. Then they came out into a clear space, where the wind blew. It felt right to her, as if the Lady had guided her to it. But then she saw, dim below her feet, a deep, dark ravine. Korman was coming up behind her.
‘Wait, stop!’ she screamed, trying to hold onto him, but he was too heavy for her, and going too fast. He slipped, and plunged blindly over the edge.
Just then she heard a whining, buzzing sound. She knew what it was. She held herself perfectly still, though she was out of breath and bursting to gulp in the air. She heard the horrifying sound of Korman’s body bouncing against the cliff face as he fell, while the black hornet circled menacingly somewhere over her head. She wrapped her cloak around herself as best she could. The buzzing had stopped. Then she felt something prickly crawl down her leg to her bare ankle. She screamed as the hornet stabbed liquid fire into her heel. She gasped with the pain, teetered on the edge of the cliff, and collapsed, her leg already numb and useless. She felt her whole body go limp, felt the cliff-edge crumble as she slid toward the depths below, and vaguely noticed the sound of the Dagraath baying as she fell.
Chapter Thirty-five
The White Ürxura