Beyond the Hanging Wall

by Sara Douglass

  “Six months ago I accompanied my father to the Veins for the first time. While there I treated a man. On his right biceps,” Garth tapped his own arm softly, “was an old burn mark. Underneath—”

  Venetia’s eyes widened in shock, and she grasped Ravenna’s hand.

  “—underneath I felt the mark of the Manteceros. It had a strangeness about it.”

  “Maximilian!” Ravenna breathed, and Garth looked at the girl, the last vestiges of his disquiet fading away. He was right to have trusted them.

  “Yes. Maximilian.”

  He paused, and took a great breath. “Help me. Please—help me.”

  TEN

  QUESTIONS

  “Tell us,” Ravenna said, and Garth did. He explained how he had found Maximilian, and he explained about Maximilian’s doubts, his denial of his own identity and his insistence that there was nothing beyond the hanging wall.

  Both Venetia and Ravenna turned aside at that, obviously distressed at the thought of the man trapped for so long within the darkness of the earth.

  Garth repeated the riddle Maximilian had told him. “Do you know what it means, Venetia?”

  Venetia chewed her lip thoughtfully, her eyes guarded as she shared a glance with her daughter.

  Garth shifted impatiently, both irritated and unnerved by the glances between mother and daughter. That they knew something was obvious, yet Garth feared they might just shake their heads and turn away.

  But eventually Venetia replied. “The first two lines obviously refer to a time when need is great—and if it is Maximilian trapped beneath the hanging wall—”

  “It is,” said Garth, low and fierce.

  “If it is Maximilian trapped beneath the hanging wall,” Venetia repeated, irritated herself now, “then the need must necessarily be great.”

  “And you were right to say that the Manteceros is a dream,” Ravenna said, her grey eyes steady on Garth’s face, “for he is nothing but.”

  Venetia nodded. “And the last two lines, Garth Baxtor, indicate that we must set the dream free—”

  “Set him free into this world,” Ravenna murmured. Now her eyes were distant and dreamy, and after a minute she lowered them and averted her face.

  “So he can test the king’s true worth.” Venetia finished, and took a deep breath, adding almost to herself, “Is Maximilian a changeling, or is he true? And what form is the test?”

  “An ordeal, the scroll said,” Garth explained, and told Venetia and Ravenna what little he had discovered in the library. “If there is more than one claimant to the throne, then the Manteceros must administer an ordeal.”

  Venetia shuddered, and her face became very still.

  Garth hesitated. “Will you help me?” he asked again, looking between the two. “Can you find the Manteceros?”

  Venetia stared at him, then nodded her head.

  “Perhaps, boy. Come,” her tone turned brisk, and she turned to the table.

  Garth blinked. He could have sworn that when last he looked the table held nothing but the saddlebags and the packages of herbs. Now bread, cheese and sausage were spread across thick white platters, while mugs of frothy ale stood to one side.

  He jumped. Venetia had placed her hand in the small of his back and was gently pushing him towards the benches that had appeared as mysteriously as the food.

  “I would that you share a meal with us, Garth,” she said gently.

  “My father—” Garth began.

  “Your father will not fuss if you stay the afternoon. Now, sit.”

  Garth sat.

  “And while we eat, Ravenna and I will attempt to explain the marshes to you.”

  Venetia sat herself on a bench on the opposite side of the table, but Ravenna slid onto the bench that Garth sat on. He slid a little self-consciously to its far end. Neither Venetia nor Ravenna paid him any heed.

  Venetia carved up the sausage and cheese, heaping generous portions on three plates, while Ravenna handed the mugs of ale around.

  “Thank you,” Garth murmured as he accepted both food and ale, and took a quick sip from his mug. The ale was rich and foamy and soothing, and Garth relaxed. “What is it that I saw in this hut, Venetia?” There was no trace of mist or cavernous space left.

  “You only saw the marsh, boy.” Venetia put down the piece of sausage she held and nodded at her daughter.

  “The marsh is halfway land, a border land,” Ravenna said quietly to Garth’s side. “It lies halfway between the sea and the land, and is composed of both. Sometimes the land seems dominant, sometimes the sea.”

  “And the marsh is also a border land between the land of wakefulness and the land of dreams.”

  Garth swallowed his piece of bread and cheese. “There is a land of dreams?”

  “Assuredly,” both marsh women said together.

  “And I could reach the land of dreams through the marsh?” he said slowly.

  Ravenna took a sharp breath and looked at her mother.

  “You would find it hard, boy,” Venetia said softly. “You could see into the land of dreams—and did, when you saw the hut dissolve into mist—but you would find it all but impossible to walk alone into the land of dreams.”

  “It is his Touch,” Ravenna said, and refilled Garth’s mug from a jug.

  Garth frowned. “What?”

  “Ravenna means that whatever gives you the ability to Touch probably also allows you to see into the land of dreams.”

  “But you said that my father never saw the dream land.”

  Venetia smiled, and Garth felt his shoulders tense again. “Your father commands not a fraction of the Touch you will one day, boy.”

  Garth ran his tongue about his lips and pushed his plate away. “Will you take me into the land of dreams, Venetia? I must find the Manteceros and bring him out.”

  Venetia laughed merrily at the vehemence in Garth’s voice. “You will not find that so easy, methinks, boy.”

  Garth’s face set into determined lines. “Will you take me, Venetia?”

  She waved a hand airily, and smiled a little at her daughter. “Perhaps, Garth Baxtor, but I would ask you a question or two first.”

  Yet it was Ravenna who asked the first question, and when she did, it was not a question at all. She swivelled on the bench so that she faced Garth fully, and her face was expressionless and her eyes fathomless. “Your life seems full of coincidences, Garth Baxtor.”

  Garth wondered why they were unable to ever refer to him simply as Garth. “What do you mean?”

  Her expression did not change. “How strange that Maximilian has been down the Veins for some seventeen years, and yet none have discovered his identity until you went down.”

  “And how strange,” Venetia continued quietly, “that within hours of your going down the Veins for the very first time you should find yourself with your hands wrapped about Maximilian’s arm.”

  “When Joseph, as you have informed us, knew Maximilian in childhood and yet has never met him after some twenty years of attending those trapped down the Veins,” Ravenna murmured, her stare relentless.

  “I—” Garth began, but Venetia gave him no chance to finish.

  “And, stranger yet, methinks, that this street trader should press the medallion on you and speak of the dream. Who is he, I wonder?”

  “Stranger still,” Ravenna whispered, and now her eyes were almost febrile, “that your father should send you out into the marshes this day. Send you to the only one who can find the Manteceros for you.”

  Garth’s eyes shifted back to Venetia. “Venetia, I cannot explain these coincidences, and I had not even realised them myself until you voiced them for me. Venetia, will you take me?”

  Again she interrupted, as if she had not heard him. Her eyes were as feverish as those of her daughter now. “He is caught up in some web, some plot, that I cannot see, Ravenna.”

  “Nor I,” her daughter whispered. “Is he dangerous?”

  Venetia’s hand suddenly snake
d across the table and caught Garth’s wrist in a vice-like grip that belied her fragile bones.

  Garth gasped, and instinctively pulled his hand back. But Venetia’s grip held firm. She took a slow, deep breath, her gaze riveted on Garth’s face. “No,” she eventually said slowly, “no, I think not. He is a good boy. And, as you said when you held his hand, Ravenna, he has a warm and courageous heart. I think that I like him, too.”

  Garth could feel Ravenna relax at his side, but he did not look away from her mother. “Please,” he said softly, “will you help me find the Manteceros?”

  Venetia held his eyes, her own light grey eyes unreadable. Then her lip curled slightly. “No.”

  Garth recoiled, and this time he did manage to tear his wrist from her grasp. “No?”

  Venetia’s mouth curled into a full smile now. “No. I am not able to find the Manteceros for you. Wait, boy. Let me explain. I have not the power for it. But—”

  The walls and ceiling about her dissolved back into mist. “But my beautiful, powerful daughter can. And that, boy, is the supreme coincidence. Among the marsh women there has not been one as powerful as Ravenna for three, perhaps four hundred years. A generation to either side, Garth Baxtor, and you would never have found the Manteceros and Maximilian would have mouldered to his death in the Veins.”

  ELEVEN

  SKIP, TRIP, MY PRETTY MAN

  Ravenna took Garth by the hand and led him from the hut. Venetia watched from the doorway, her peculiar eyes following them for as long as she could. Then she sighed, cleared the table, and walked outside to spend the rest of the afternoon stroking and whispering to Garth’s horse.

  For some minutes Garth followed Ravenna silently. The girl was dressed in a white robe of light weave which left her arms free; they swung a hand-span above her bare feet. About them the mist had thickened, and Garth could not help an apprehensive glance.

  Aware of the mist, Ravenna stopped dead in her tracks. Startled, Garth jerked to a halt as well, but the girl ignored him. She dropped gracefully to one knee and bowed her head in swift prayer, her fingers laced over her heart.

  “Forgive my intrusion, my Lord of Dreams,” she murmured. “I ask for your forgiveness and tolerance.”

  As she rose, Garth frowned. Lord of Dreams?

  As if she had heard his thoughts, Ravenna turned and smiled reassuringly. “All marsh women beg the forgiveness of Drava before we enter his realm, Garth Baxtor, and we ask him to tolerate the touch of our feet while we walk his paths.”

  Garth’s eyes widened, and Ravenna grinned. “You need not fear, physician’s apprentice. Drava rests so deep in dream that even we, his handmaidens, have never seen him—although his presence often brushes our minds. Come, take my hand, and let me lead you beyond the border into the land of dreams.”

  Her hand was warm and confident, and Garth let himself relax slightly as they walked along the same path he had originally ridden down. The gravel scrunched underneath their feet, and Garth wondered that Ravenna could walk so effortlessly across the sharp stones with no shoes.

  “I do not feel them, Garth Baxtor,” she said, and before he had even fully exhaled his startled breath, she partly explained about the marsh.

  “There are only a few of us left to inhabit the marsh, Garth Baxtor. All women. We stand guard along these border lands, and keep watch that nothing untoward crosses…either way.”

  “You mean that creatures from our dreams can cross into this world?”

  She smiled, and momentarily her face seemed very young. “Yes, they can.” She arched a dark eyebrow. “But is that not what you want? That the Manteceros will step from that land into this?”

  “Yes,” Garth said somewhat uneasily. “I suppose so.”

  “I see and feel your unease, physician’s son, and I understand it. It would not be pleasant if our nightmares crossed over, would it?”

  “You can stop that?”

  “We do the best we can. Now, hold fast, for I would lead you into the land of dreams.”

  Her hand tightened about his, and Garth was grateful for the contact. He ran his eyes over the girl’s face, his thoughts well guarded now, and wondered if all the marsh women were as beautiful as she and her mother. “Where is your father, Ravenna ?”

  The question surprised her, and her step faltered. She turned to stare at him wide-eyed. “I have no father, Garth Baxtor. Now, stay beside me and do not let my hand go.”

  Then she stepped forward again, and her hand jerked Garth after her.

  At some point Garth realised they had left the main causeway for a small track that led deep into the marsh. Water and mud squelched to either side, and the occasional tree still loomed in the mist, but the noise of the birds had disappeared completely, and the sound of the surf sounded very distant, even though—as much as Garth could work out—they walked directly towards the coast.

  “Where—” he began, then gave a cry as a great redwinged bird swooped low over their heads. Its beak snapped as it passed, and Garth reflexively ducked.

  “Shush,” Ravenna whispered. “It will not harm you. It was merely the manifestation of someone’s dream.”

  Garth moved a little closer to her, his eyes roving carefully from side to side. “Someone’s dream?”

  “Yes. Somewhere, someone dreams, and they dream of that great red bird. Thus it appears here.”

  Now even the trees had disappeared within the mist, and it clung cool and damp to their skin and clothes. Still the mud sucked and plopped to each side.

  “Does someone have to be dreaming it for the creature to exist?”

  Ravenna nodded. “Mostly, although some creatures can exist independent of a current dream. Such is the Manteceros.”

  “Perhaps it is the mark that the king and heir wear,” Garth said slowly, “that keeps the Manteceros alive.”

  Surprised, Ravenna glanced at Garth. “Yes. Perhaps.”

  “How do we find him?”

  She grinned, and tossed her dark hair about her shoulders. “We call, Garth Baxtor. What else?”

  “Call?”

  And Ravenna began to sing, and singing, ran lightly down the path into the formless mist, pulling Garth with her.

  She sang clear and sweet, her voice underscored with the breathlessness of laughter and the anguish of a new widow; even so, it took Garth some time before he picked out her words.

  Blue skin pitted with sadness

  —Skip, trip, my pretty man—

  Face drawn and lined with trial

  —Skip, trip, into my hand—

  And awkward formlessness, there

  —Skip, trip, be frank and fair—

  No beauty, grace, nor frailty

  —Skip, trip, through the air—

  Belongs in your face, despair

  —Skip, trip, leap to the sky—

  Clings close and binds heart to fear

  —Skip, trip, linger and die—

  Cries who comes to Claim? Who dares

  —Skip, trip, my pretty man—

  The Dream, and daring ------

  —Skip, trip, into my heart—

  Infected with both her sorrow and joy, Garth laughed even as tears drifted down his cheeks, and he felt her hand clench yet tighter about his.

  “Sing!” she cried, her hair whipping about her pale face, and Garth sang, his bass voice taking up the sad verse while Ravenna’s soprano, filled with laughter, sang the ridiculous refrain.

  Skip, trip, my pretty man,

  Skip, trip, into my hand,

  Skip, trip, my pretty man,

  Skip, trip, into my heart.

  So mesmerised was he by her lovely face, by her magical, lightening eyes locked into his, Garth completely forgot that they were trying to find the Manteceros. He seized both of her hands in his, swinging her about the path, then gripped her waist and lifted her into the air.

  Skip, trip, through the air,

  Skip, trip, leap to the sky,

  Skip, trip, my pretty man,
>
  Skip, trip, into my heart.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that,” a terse voice said behind them, and in his surprise Garth almost dropped Ravenna.

  In the middle of a breathless gasp of laughter, Ravenna instantly sobered, then abruptly pulled away from Garth’s grasp. Her eyes darkened back to their normal shade.

  On the path behind them stood the strangest creature that Garth had ever seen, yet he recognised it instantly.

  The Manteceros.

  It jerked its head in a curt greeting, then shuffled forward several steps, its thick legs creaking slightly. Its eyes slid appraisingly over Garth before lingering on Ravenna, and Garth had the strangest feeling that the creature had appeared only when—because—Garth had wrapped his hands about Ravenna’s waist.

  As the Manteceros looked at Ravenna it dipped its head again, more courtly this time. “Am I intruding? If so, then forgive my impoliteness. Perhaps I should leave…”

  “Welcome,” Ravenna said, holding out her hand, and taking a step forward. Garth still stood with his mouth wide open.

  “You are welcome,” Ravenna continued, “and wanted and needed.”

  The creature’s lips twitched in what might have been a smile. “Oh,” it murmured, “I don’t know about that.”

  Ravenna smiled, and stepped forward until she was close enough to touch the creature’s shapeless nose. “My name is Ravenna, and behind me stands Garth Baxtor.”

  The Manteceros totally ignored Garth. “I have seen you, through the mists,” it said softly, relaxing as Ravenna continued gently to stroke its nose. “Skipping and laughing through dreams and border lands. Sad creature that I am, you skipped right by me. Ah, Ravenna, I have waited aeons for you to think of me, for your song to call me.”