The Mirror of Her Dreams

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Somewhere inside her, the translation was still going on, still happening. Now, however, she knew what it meant. Doubt accumulated in her nerves: she was on the verge of failure. It was the sensation of fading, of losing existence, concentrated to crisis proportions: it was the pure moment in which she lost her hold on herself, on actuality, on life. This was what she had been falling toward ever since she had begun to be unsure of her own being.

  It was happening to her now.

  Although Geraden hovered beside her, urgent to know what she had seen, she couldn’t shift her attention to him. She was staring at the glass he had left uncovered – the flat glass that showed a snow-clogged meeting of roads

  The Image in that mirror had changed.

  The way she stared made him turn.

  When he saw the mirror, he gasped. “That’s impossible. How did you—?”

  He fought to control his amazement. “I know that place. I’ve been there – I practically grew up there. We used to play there when I was a boy. We called it the Closed Fist. It’s in the Care of Domne. It can’t be more than five miles from Houseldon.” Through his confusion and surprise, his voice shone with pleasure. “That valley is a jumble of rocks inside. A great place to climb. And there must be a hundred little caves and secret places to hide. We had the best games—”

  She believed him: she had just been there herself. She recognized the contours of the ground, the shape of the valley. The hillside was blanketed in snow, ice choked the stream, the pillars wore frost like thatches of white in their gray hair. But the scene was the same. Only the season had changed; spring had become winter.

  Now Geraden was gazing at her as if she had done something wonderful. “My lady,” he said in awe, “I don’t know how you did that. It isn’t possible. Mirrors can’t change their Images. But you did it. Somehow.

  “You’re an Imager. You’re certainly an Imager. Nothing like this has ever been done before. It’s a good thing for us you’re here.”

  The color was back in his cheeks.

  She had no idea why he had jumped to the conclusion that she was the cause of this impossible change. At the moment, however, that was secondary. She couldn’t think about it yet. Other things staggered her.

  She had just seen the same scene in two different mirrors. A scene he said was real. But she had seen it in two different seasons. One of the mirrors was wrong. This was winter, not springtime. The mirror that showed the Closed Fist in springtime was wrong.

  A sensation of fading drained her heart. It was Geraden’s mirror. The mirror that had brought her here. That glass reflected Images that didn’t exist.

  When she realized that she also was an Image that didn’t exist, she nearly collapsed to her knees again.

  EIGHT: VARIOUS ENCOUNTERS

  “Why isn’t it possible?” She sounded small and weak, and her head was spinning.

  Exaltation had taken hold of Geraden; he didn’t seem to be aware of her distress. “Nobody knows how to change Images. It isn’t possible. The Image is part of the glass. But you’ve just done it. You’re the augured champion.”

  He didn’t know what she had seen in the other mirror. His mirror. He didn’t know she had proof that she didn’t exist. Her hands made unselfconscious warding gestures, pushing ideas away. The implications were horrifying.

  On the other hand, she didn’t feel horrified. She felt distant, as if she were floating off. The sensation that she was fading grew stronger. Or perhaps she was now more acutely sensitive to it. She had no idea why she was still present in the room with him.

  The mirror that had brought her here showed Images that weren’t real.

  “You said it’s a real place. Didn’t you? But I’ve never seen that place before.” Her voice had a brittle edge to it; a tinny pitch of hysteria. She was struggling to recover the sense that she existed. “I’ve never been there. I can’t change Images if I don’t know how.” She hugged her elbows and tried to sound calmer. “Otherwise it would be easy to get back to my apartment.”

  That argument reached him in spite of his elevated state. He thought about it, frowning intently. “But you must have done it. If you didn’t— That only leaves me. I can’t even do simple translations. I’ve never been able to do anything like that.”

  “Have you ever tried?” Whatever she said no longer mattered. Her life was growing farther and farther away.

  He stared at her: for a few seconds, he seemed to take her question seriously. Then he shook his head. “No, of course not. It’s nonsense. An Image is a fundamental part of the glass itself. That’s why mirrors have such limited range. They can’t be focused away from what they are.” Abruptly, he peered more closely at the glass. “But this one was,” he muttered in bewilderment. “It changed while we were right here in the room. So it isn’t nonsense. One of us must have done it.” He stepped back, his manner abstract and intense with thought. “Unless there’s somebody in Orison who has that much power. And he’s here.”

  “That is absurd, Apt Geraden,” a crisp voice commented. “The impossible is the impossible. There must be another explanation.”

  Geraden whirled.

  Terisa turned also, floating around from far away.

  In one of the doorways stood Master Eremis.

  He wore the same jet cloak under his chasuble which she had seen the previous day. Again, she was struck by how little conventionally handsome he was: his large nose and narrow, sloping cheeks made his face look like a wedge; the thick, black hair perched on the back of his skull emphasized the baldness of his high forehead. But in his case the conventions lost their usual meaning. He was tall, lean, and strong, his pale eyes shone with intelligence and humor, the smile on his lips promised secrets. And the way he looked at her made her hold her breath.

  She had been told that he might consider her lovely.

  Without warning, her pulse began to beat with excitement in her skin. Inexplicably, the sensation that she was fading lost its urgency.

  As grateful as if she had been rescued, she waited to find out what he would do.

  For a moment, he looked at the changed mirror, frowning in concentration. “Yes,” he murmured, “that is impossible.” Then he turned his attention back to Terisa and Geraden.

  “Freshen my memory, Apt. Perhaps I recollect incorrectly. Did or did not Master Barsonage command you to give no knowledge away to the lady?”

  Geraden glared at the floor and didn’t respond.

  Insouciantly, Master Eremis came forward. Before she had moved into her own apartment, Terisa had seen a variety of men who were reputed to be powerful, her father’s guests; but none of them had projected the commanding confidence Master Eremis did. Only her father’s presence had been comparably effective – and his manner had been considerably less attractive. He had lacked the sparkle of play or passion that would have made her mother’s marriage to him comprehensible. As Eremis approached, he spoke to Geraden, but the interest gleaming in his eyes and smiling on his lips was directed at her.

  “Well, no matter. I think it a stupid command. The first rule of good courtesy is to deny beautiful women nothing. Nevertheless you are fortunate that the rest of the Masters are too interested in their debate to be vigilant. Master Barsonage might well strip you of your place if he learned what you have done. But he will not learn it from me.”

  “Thanks,” Geraden muttered ungraciously. The Master’s sudden appearance seemed to reduce him to the stature of a sullen boy.

  Eremis glanced at Geraden. “My forbearance does not please you? I wish I could persuade you that you have no truer friend on the Congery than I am. You know that I opposed the decision to let you attempt an approach to our chosen champion. Do you believe that I did so because I despise either you or your abilities? You are wrong. The champion is dangerous. I was arguing for your safety, Geraden.”

  “I might have an easier time being grateful if I understood,” Geraden said through his teeth, still glaring at the floor. “What good is
my safety to you?”

  “Shame on you,” laughed the Master. “Bitterness is not becoming. “He moved behind Geraden and put his hands like a fond parent on the Apt’s shoulders. From that position, he gave Terisa a conspiratorial grin. “Your safety is no ‘good’ to me personally. But I value your intelligence – and your stubbornness. It would not please me to see those qualities wasted.

  “Also” – he squeezed and patted Geraden’s shoulders – “the fact that you are safe means that you can now give me formal introduction to this” – his gaze left hers and went down to her neckline, resting there deliberately for a moment before returning to her face – “delectable lady.”

  Stiffly, Geraden said, “I’m sure you know her name by now.”

  “Ah, but I have not heard it from you. You are her translator. As Master Barsonage observed, you are responsible for her.” The particular way he looked at Terisa made the weakness she felt seem more pleasant. “I want you to introduce me to her properly.”

  Geraden flicked a glance at her. His mouth was twisted into a snarl. Nevertheless he complied. “My lady, may I present Master Eremis. His home is Esmerel, one of the most renowned manors of Tor.” He was as rigid as an iron bar. “Master Eremis, this is the lady Terisa of Morgan.” Then, in a tone of muffled ferocity, he added, “She is a guest of King Joyse and under his protection. Castellan Lebbick has her well guarded.”

  Once more, Master Eremis laughed. “Geraden, you are as graceless as a child.” He gave the Apt’s shoulders another pat and moved away from his back. “But I mean to show my friendship in a way that will surprise you.

  “Now,” he went on, returning his attention to the mirrors, “there is the question of how Images can be changed. I doubt that a substitution has been made.” He stroked the flat glass lightly with his fingertips. “At the same time, a more fundamental change is inconceivable. This requires thought.”

  He didn’t appear to be interested in thinking about the question at the moment, however. “In the meantime,” he said unexpectedly, facing Geraden again, “I naturally wonder what inspired you to bring the lady Terisa here. Your glass and Gilbur’s are uncovered. This leads me to suspect that you had some aim of enabling her to leave us – or of proving to her that departure is impossible. I dismiss the first. It is absurd. Even you, Apt, would not risk your life, your future with the Congery, and the survival of Mordant, only to undo everything the next day.”

  Geraden met the Master’s gaze without flinching, but the muscles of his jaw knotted.

  “I conclude, therefore, that her departure is now impossible. Some change has taken place within the glass, closing the door which you opened – somehow! – to bring the lady Terisa here.

  “Yet that, too, is impossible.” He smiled as if the idea pleased him. “We have impossibilities everywhere. Here is a challenge for you, Apt. As I hope I have made plain, I appreciate your intelligence. Your capacity for disaster exerts itself in practice rather than theory. Consider this question: is it theoretically possible to project or transpose the Image of one mirror onto another?” He sounded like a teacher raising issues to which he already knew the answers. “Would that explain the impossibilities which seem to surround the lady Terisa?

  “Study the matter and let me know your conclusions. For my part, I will take up the question with the Congery. You will advance yourself much if you reach an answer more promptly than the Masters do.”

  Before Geraden could reply, Master Eremis shifted his concentration to Terisa. “And now, my lady,” he said, resuming his previous manner, “perhaps you will do me the kindness to accompany me to my chambers. The space which Orison allows me is not lavish, but I can offer you hospitality and comfort.” At once casual and intent, he moved closer to her. “There are many matters that I think we can profitably discuss.”

  His smile and his nearness seemed to have strong male implications which made the blood rise in her face. She studied his expression until her breathing quickened and she couldn’t look away.

  “We will not bore you, Apt, by requiring your attendance,” the Master murmured over his shoulder. “You have more pressing responsibilities to pursue.”

  With one hand, he reached out to her. His fingers were long and slim, artist’s fingers, their knuckles delicate, their tips made to stroke and probe and know. His index finger touched the skin of her shoulder at the edge of her gown and gently traced the fabric down into the hollow between her breasts.

  “My lady, shall we go?”

  Involuntarily, her lips parted as if they were waiting for him. She felt too hypnotized and malleable to move, transfixed by his magnetism and the light in his eyes. But if he had put his arm around her, she would have gone with him anywhere.

  “Master Eremis” – Geraden’s voice was so tight that it cracked – “what is the Congery debating? If the Masters are trying to make a decision about the lady Terisa, all three of us should be there. I know a lot more about her than I did yesterday.” He sounded at once desperate and angry, yet he kept himself under control. “And she might want to speak for herself.”

  The Master raised an eyebrow; one corner of his smile knotted. “Apt Geraden,” he said softly, without looking away from Terisa or removing his finger from the V of her gown, “this is insufferable. I have dismissed you. If you find yourself unable to grow up, return to Houseldon and ask the Domne to put you back among your toys and nursemaids. Orison is no place for children.”

  “Master Eremis.” Geraden’s tone made Terisa look at him. In his face, she saw an inchoate hardness, a capacity for strength that hadn’t come into focus. “I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. I make any number of mistakes. But I’ve never served the Congery wrongly.” A secret ferocity mounted behind his words. “Something impossible has happened in this room. The Masters need to know what I’ve learned – what the lady Terisa can tell them. What are they debating?”

  “Tinct and silver, boy!” Eremis wheeled away from Terisa sharply. “Are you blind as well as deaf?” An instant later, however, he restrained himself. “Oh, very well,” he growled. “Perhaps if I answer you, you will be content to leave us alone.

  “Because they are muddled and ineffectual, those pompous Imagers will today arrive – with much protestation, consideration, expostulation, and inspiration – at the astonishing conclusion that it is not possible to arrive at a conclusion concerning the lady Terisa of Morgan. You cannot explain whether you came upon her by accident or power. Therefore you cannot possibly know whether the power was yours or hers. And nothing she may say for herself can be trusted. If she is real in her own existence, and not a creation of Imagery, then she will have her own reasons for any answer she gives. Her motives will most assuredly not be the same as ours. And if she is in fact made by the glass – as seems apparent to me – then all her reasons and answers will be shaped by the Imager who caused you to find her. By someone who chooses to remain secret because he is the obvious enemy of the Congery and Mordant.

  “Therefore intelligent decisions concerning her cannot be made as matters stand.

  “I anticipate that the Masters will achieve this remarkable insight in another hour or two – well before Master Barsonage is in danger of missing more than one meal.

  “Tomorrow they will debate what action should be taken in this dilemma. And by that time I will have spoken to them concerning the lady Terisa’s latest impossibilities.

  “Apt, are you satisfied?”

  Once again, Geraden didn’t meet the Master’s gaze. His strength appeared to have deserted him. With his head down and his shoulders sagging, he looked like he might begin to kick his boots against the stone in chagrin. But he didn’t retreat. Terisa noticed particularly that he didn’t accept his dismissal and leave the room.

  “You can forget about accidents,” he said, his voice muffled by the way he held his head. “The mirror that brought her here has been closed. There’s power at work. And it has something to do with the lady Terisa.

&nb
sp; “She says she’s not an Imager. She says there are no Imagers in her world. She uses the word magic – there is no magic in her world. And when I was there I saw evidence that she didn’t draw me to her.

  “But that doesn’t mean she has no power here.”

  Terisa winced at this argument. When Master Eremis turned his attention away from her, she began to recover some of her ability to think. As a result, she wished that she could have told Geraden what she saw in his mirror before he tried to argue with anyone. Her proof might have saved him from making a fool of himself.

  Unfortunately, it was too late to save him now. “I believe,” he went on, speaking more slowly and tensely, “that there’s something crucial about her. We need her. I know I don’t have any kind of undiscovered talent. I would not have found her if she weren’t vitally important.”

  Then he did look up at the taller man. He appeared to be chewing the inside of his cheek to steady himself. His expression was anxious and abashed, but his gaze didn’t falter. “Master Eremis, I believe she’s too important to become just another one of your women.”

  “You insolent puppy!” spat the Master. For an instant, he seemed to grow taller, as if he were cocking himself to deliver a blow.

  Suddenly, however, he burst out laughing. “Oh, Geraden, Geraden!” he chortled. “Is it any wonder that I wish you well? You are beyond price. Tell me, boy.” His voice took on an edge of glee, as if he were playing at outrage. “Is it actually possible for you to look at this lady” – he indicated Terisa with a broad sweep of his hand – “and believe that she could ever be ‘just another’ woman to any man?” Throwing back his head, he laughed again, loudly and thoroughly.

  That was what was wrong with her father, of course. He never laughed. In an odd way, Master Eremis’ mirth filled her with sadness. It represented a loss. If she had grown up in a family where people laughed, things might have been entirely different. She might have been entirely—

  Almost inevitably, this sorrow brought back the sensation that she was fading.