by Ian Irvine
“What’s the wyverin got to do with it?”
“It was an experiment begun with good intentions—a beast created solely to produce, dissolved in its tears, an incredibly rare alchymical element called gueride. That’s why the wyverin was called the Chymical Beast. And gueride, since Glynnie is about to ask, has the unique property of being able to create portals between one world and another. If you know how, and have enough of it, that is.”
“But something went wrong,” said Glynnie, sipping her wine.
“The Chymical Beast could be used, or rather, reshaped, to extract other alchymical elements from traces in its food,” said Errek. “Almost all of the elements, in fact. But of course that offered limitless power, and it corrupted those who made use of it. Such power could not do otherwise.
“The ruling council of the exiles ordered the work abandoned and the Chymical Beast, and all the records, destroyed. This was done, but Herox, Axil Grandys’ distant ancestor who was the leader of a clan of reckless alchymical sorcerers, smuggled out an egg. He also took copies of the most vital secrets, and kept on with the forbidden work in a distant part of the void.”
“I began my quest for justice with noble intentions,” said Tali in a monotone. “And I corrupted myself when I chose to pursue justice at any cost.” She avoided Lyf’s eyes, meeting Errek’s instead.
“And you can’t let go,” said Errek.
“My quest has been the mainstay of my life since I was eight. If I give it up, what do I have left?”
“You must give it up,” said Errek, kindly. His eyes flicked to Lyf, whose head was still bent, his face invisible, then back to Tali. “If you don’t it will consume everything good in your life, and finally you as well.”
He bent his wrinkled old neck for a moment, then continued.
“The wyverin we saw the other day is a greatly twisted version of a noble creature, a fire-breathing wyverin. Wyverins can create, or rather liberate, the light, gaseous element called hydrogenium inside them. However Herox reshaped the wyverin, internally, to separate gueride and almost all the other precious alchymical elements.”
“Why?” said Glynnie.
“Once they had enough gueride to open a portal to a suitable world, Clan Herox wanted the power to take that world for themselves, and hold it.”
“Why would anyone want to own a whole world?”
He shook his head at her naïvety. “Herox’s greed was insatiable. He realised that pain greatly enhanced production of these elements, so he shaped the wyverin to be in perpetual pain. To increase the production of gueride he gave it over-sensitive eyes that were constantly producing tears. And to heighten its alchymical abilities, whenever it woke he fed it with a live sorcerer.”
Rix stirred, not liking the way this story was going. “How did it end up here?”
“One day, tormented beyond endurance, the wyverin devoured Herox and the next two greatest sorcerers in the clan. It assimilated their genius for magery and went on a rampage. By now it was too big and powerful to deal with, so the ruling council drove it, and the surviving members of Clan Herox, into the most empty part of the void to starve.”
“But it didn’t starve.”
“They didn’t realise it could now feed on anything, even rock, dust and icy comets. It survived there, and Clan Herox subsisted nearby, hiding from the beast which so hated its creators. The clan found a way—a deadly dangerous way—to collect its tears in the hope that, one day, they would have enough gueride to make a portal and reach a real world… which they called their Promised Realm.”
“And one day they did,” said Glynnie.
“It finally formed enough gueride for Clan Herox to crystallise out the Waystone, Incarnate, a forbidden artefact.”
“Why was it forbidden?”
“Because with a Waystone, even a minor adept can make a portal to almost anywhere, without leaving a trace. And that allows any crime or depravity or wickedness to be committed, anywhere, and gotten away with.”
“Ah!” said Glynnie.
“Clan Herox used the Waystone to locate and widen a dimensional weakness—a portal to another world. Our world!”
“When was this?” said Rix.
“Twelve thousand years ago,” said Errek. “The Heroxians were determined to have our world at any cost, but the starving wyverin also saw the dimensional weakness. It clawed a way through first and ended up in ancient Cythe. Here it fed ravenously on a rich seam of pitchblende ore, which was refined internally, and the metal from that ore was taken up into its scales.
“But those heavy metal scales gave out heat and irritated its skin, so it continually shed them and formed new scales. Eventually the great beast, consumed by the urge to lay eggs, began to carry its cast-off scales down into a deep cavern, where it arranged them in stacks to form a gigantic, self-warming nest. Soon the nest grew too warm, so it created channels to funnel groundwater through the cavern and carry the excess heat away.
“The eggs never hatched—perhaps that infernal radiance killed them—but the wyverin kept laying them; it kept hoping some would produce young. For two thousand years it continued to feed on the pitchblende ore, and carry down its scales, by which time it had deposited millions of them in the vast arrays of stacks you saw—”
“Creating the Engine at the heart of the land,” said Glynnie.
“But it doesn’t have metal scales now,” said Rix.
“There’s no pitchblende ore in the chamber where I put it to sleep,” said Errek. “I made sure of that. But as I was saying, the metal extracted from pitchblende heated up everything around it, and bathed everything in that infernal luminosity.
“With time the drainage channels began to clog and the stacks of scales grew ever hotter until they formed the Engine, which woke the sleeping Vomits and caused them to erupt ever more violently. Vast ash clouds blocked out the sun, allowing ice to spread across the oceans… you see the picture, I’m sure.”
“What about Clan Herox?” said Rix.
“Here the story is less clear,” said Errek, “bound up as it is with lies and legends. However it appears that they followed the wyverin through the portal, intending to take our world, but things went wrong.”
“Why?”
“Objects carried between worlds are transformed in unpredictable ways, and that included the Waystone. Halfway through, it went dead and the Heroxians ended up on the far side of the world, in a cruel land called Thanneron. Without the use of the Way stone they had no way to escape and were immediately enslaved.
“Because they looked so different from the other peoples of Thanneron, they were kept as slaves and serfs for thousands of years. Eventually they gained their freedom, though they were still oppressed and despised. When the chance came to join the First Fleet, many of them took it, determined to create a Promised Realm solely for themselves.”
“What about king-magery?” said Tali. “It’s said you invented it to heal the troubled land.”
“A half-truth and a cover story to conceal the deadly reality,” said Errek, “but let’s back-step a bit. Ten thousand years ago the Engine overheated and caused a catastrophic eruption. A fourth Vomit, north-east of the present three, blew itself to bits so violently that a vast chasm was left where it had stood, the abyss that became Lake Fumerous.
“In central Hightspall nothing survived, and no one. After it was over the land was covered hundreds of feet deep in lava and ash. It rained acid for weeks, and then the overcast was so thick that everything froze. Hundreds of years passed before people dared to come over the mountains from east and west to move into that devastated but fertile land.
“I became Cythe’s first king, and I worried that it would happen again. The wyverin was often seen in the sky then, and it always presaged dire events. I tracked it to its lair, discovered what it was, and I knew it could create more Engines. If it did, our land could not survive.
“After great labour I invented king-magery to put the wyverin into an e
nchanted sleep, then set my stone Defenders to watch over it and attempted to heal the land. But the strain was too great. I burned out my life force at the age of forty-two… I lived just long enough to pass on king-magery to my successor.
“The Engine could not be stopped or broken, because it proved deadly to everyone who approached it. Only by ‘healing the land’—that is, using king-magery to keep the cooling water channels flowing freely—could a balance be maintained between stability and destruction.”
“And this was done,” said Tali, “until, two thousand years ago, Grandys walled Lyf up to die alone.”
“King-magery was lost,” said Lyf, still looking down, “and the balance tilted towards disaster.”
“Which Mad Wil made so much worse a few months ago by walling off the cooling water channels,” said Errek.
He sat for a moment in silence, then turned to Lyf. “And so we come to today, and what you must do to ensure the land can be healed.”
Only now did Lyf raise his head, and Rix was astounded at the change in him. In the hour it had taken Errek to tell his tale, Lyf had changed from a relatively young man to a wrinkled ancient. The simmering rage that had always characterised him was also gone. He looked like a little, sad old man.
“My time is over,” said Lyf. “Through my own corruption I lost my healing gift, and Cython is no more. The past I sought to recreate is gone forever and the urge for vengeance has been burned out of me.” He looked into Tali’s eyes as he said it, and she was the first to turn away.
“I cannot heal my land,” he continued. “It’s time to make amends for the many wrongs I’ve done, then leave this world so king-magery can pass to someone more suited to the task. Someone untainted.”
Lyf’s gaze passed across each of their faces, in turn, though he could not have been considering them. Only a Cythonian could inherit king-magery.
“Would that I could make amends for the terrible wrongs I’ve done,” said Tali, to no one in particular.
Tobry let out a sharp breath. There was a long silence.
“But I’m afraid to go on that terrible journey…” said Lyf.
“And he cannot go alone,” said Errek. “A living soul always accompanies the dead king—a sacrifice to make sure his soul does not go astray, but passes through the Abysm so king-magery can choose the new sovereign.”
He paused again, longer this time.
“But no one should pass through the Lower Gate while still alive. The sacrificial soul suffers the most agonising death imaginable.”
Another pause, then Errek went on.
“Who would go willingly to such a fate?”
CHAPTER 92
Tali stared at her fingers, which were still raw and blistered from crushing the master pearl. She did not know what to make of Lyf’s statement. He had not paid for his crimes, and now he was planning to take the final escape. Could she allow it?
Was her quest over, or must justice still be served? And did she, burdened with so many crimes of her own, none of them atoned for, have any right to act as its agent?
Tobry rose stiffly. “I will go with you, and gladly.”
Rannilt sprang up, slapped him and tried to push him down into his chair. “You won’t!” she said shrilly. “I’m not lettin’ you sacrifice yourself just to get away from her.” She glared at Tali, who looked away.
Errek bestowed a paternal smile on Rannilt. “The sacrificial soul must be fully human, in command of his or her faculties, and choose freely. Tobry, your offer is appreciated, but not accepted.”
Tobry sat. Rannilt took hold of his hands and hissed something in his ear. He bent his head, meekly accepting her chastisement.
No one else spoke. The minutes passed. Lyf rose like the old man he now was.
“Thank you for listening. I must return to Turgur Thross to prepare myself for the Abysm.”
He bowed to each of them in turn and began to shuffle out.
Tali sat, watching him, then realised that it could not be left like this. The business between them had to be ended. She went across to him, and despite her history and her oath she felt compassion for the troubled old man.
Tobry let out an inarticulate, howling cry and sprang to his feet. Rannilt held him back.
“Our fates were linked long ago,” Tali said to Lyf, “by our shared drives for vengeance—whatever else we may have called it—and for justice. More and more, in your ruined shell, I see the decent young king of ancient times, and how he was driven by his barbaric fate to become the avenger.”
Lyf turned, looked up and met her eyes. She could not read his.
“Now that the master pearl has been cut from me,” she touched the top of her head, gingerly, “and the dreadful thing has been destroyed, I understand how you were driven to do the things you did. And why. And I’ve realised that I’m not so different. Driven by seeing my mother killed, and discovering that her ancestors were also murdered, I too have done terrible, shameful things. I have many evils to atone for, more than I care to think about… but I have to number the worst of them publicly, here, now—
“In Cython my double, Lifka, was tortured and executed because I used her identity to escape. I knew at the time I had treated Lifka badly. I did not know how badly I had wronged her until it was far too late.
“At one stage or another I’ve used every one of my friends—Mia, Rix, Tobry, Holm—” She closed her eyes for a few seconds, remembering. “And even Rannilt and Benn.” She met their eyes, each in turn. “For what I did to you I am truly sorry. Especially for the reckless way I risked the lives of innocent children.”
Finally she turned to Tobry. “Most of all, I’m sorry for what I’ve done to you. You came when you needed me desperately, and I rejected you. I betrayed your love, not because I did not love, but because I could not allow myself a hope that would inevitably be dashed, more cruelly than before.”
Tobry gave her a stiff nod, as if in acknowledgement, though not necessarily forgiveness.
But Rannilt leapt to her feet, picked up her chair, swung it around her head as if she planned to smash it across Tali’s face, then hurled it through the window. Glass went everywhere. She was red in the face and her eyes were bulging. Tali felt a stabbing pain in her belly.
“You’re a stinkin’, rotten liar,” Rannilt said in a hoarse screech. “This ain’t about makin’ up for nothin’. You just want to make sure Lyf’s dead, and punished, and you’ll sacrifice anyone for it—even Tobry who loves you desperately though I’ll never understand why—just to see your enemy dead. I hate you! I hate you! I hate you to bits!”
Rannilt collapsed in front of Tobry’s chair, sobbing desperately. He picked her up and rocked her in his arms. He was looking Tali’s way but his eyes were unfocused, gazing towards infinity.
The pain spread to Tali’s head, then her heart. Her knees began to shake and tears welled in her eyes.
“That’s not true,” she whispered. As she reached out to Tobry, the tears flooded her hot cheeks.
“From when I was a little girl,” said Tali, “I dreamed of the kind of love my mama and papa had for each other. Their love was pure, absolute, but all too brief—Papa was killed when I was six, and Mama when I was eight.”
Tobry’s head tilted down a little, though his eyes did not move. She could not tell if he was listening or blocking her out.
“I thought—no! I had the same kind of love, with Tobry. A love I expected to be eternal. But the shifter curse and my own folly broke it, and now I see in Tobry’s eyes that it can never be repaired. He’s leaving our world, and I have to atone for my crimes the only way I can.
“All this time, in selfishly pursuing my quest, I knew I was doing wrong by my own code. How could I require justice be done to Lyf, yet avoid it for myself? I have to pay.”
“It was war,” said Rix. “We all did things we regret now, but then it was kill or be killed. We did what we had to do to survive—and protect the people we cared about.”
�
�I did what I did in the name of justice, yet what I really sought was revenge. I wanted to see Lyf suffer the way Mama had suffered.”
“Lyf has suffered more than any man alive,” said Moley Gryle.
“And it’s enough,” said Tali. “But the price of vengeance must be paid. I’ve got to end the cycle here, now. As Radl did, and Rix, and even Lyf. As Grandys and the Heroes could never do.”
“What are you saying?” said Lyf.
“I will be your sacrificial soul,” said Tali. “If you will show me the way.”
CHAPTER 93
Lyf had to die and be given the proper kingly rites, but it could not take place on Touchstone, as of old. The crucible was broken and Touchstone utterly defiled.
Lyf would be given the rites at Turgur Thross, at the edge of the real, concealed Abysm. Once that was done his dead body, and Tali’s live one, would make the journey from which there was no return. She already regretted her choice but would not repudiate it. Her debts had to be paid.
On the way they diverted to Touchstone to check on the crater where the wyverin had fallen. The portal was still whirling above it but the rubble was covered in a foot-deep layer of ash and there was no sign that it had ever been disturbed.
Hundreds of Cythonians, who had come via Lyf’s gate, were gathered at Turgur Thross. It was still raining but they did not seem to be troubled by it. They met the intruders with hostile eyes, until Lyf explained what the people from Garramide were doing at this sacred ceremony.
A team of fifty men and women fastened ropes around an ancient, circular monument whose sides and top were intricately carved in the Cythian manner. The carvings, eroded by time and weather, were hard to make out. Another ten burly men and women levered the base of the monument up a few inches with long crowbars. The rope teams heaved, and slowly the monument ground to the side, exposing a circular shaft five yards across.
The Abysm.