by Maggie Furey
And all at once, she had the answer. With Hellorin after her, with the Fialan at stake, with Taku and Aurora, kindly and well-meaning though they were, being so desperately and understandably serious all the time, she had put herself under pressure and tried too hard, and in doing so had lost all the ease and joy of her magic.
The Windeye laughed aloud, took a deep, cleansing breath and shook herself to remove all the tension and frustration from her body. This time, things would be different. Above her, in some detached corner of her mind, she heard the voices of the Evanesar cease as she whirled the strands of air together, pouring her Othersight into the disc until it blazed with coruscating silver light. This time, instead of trying to snatch at the shadows, she called them to her as if they were hounds lying at rest beneath the trees, just awaiting her command. At the snap of her fingers they streamed across the grass towards her, and leapt obediently into the whirling circle of light.
Even in her moment of triumph, Corisand was astonished at the transformation. The wheel changed, becoming a flickering, insubstantial, almost translucent ghost of its former glory, so that even its creator could scarcely see where its boundaries lay.
‘My compliments, little sister.’
‘Fine work, Corisand. Your persistence was admirable - and most effective.’
The praise of the Evanesar filled her with relief. A grin compounded of pure happiness, pleasure and satisfaction stole across her face. What wonder, what joy was to be found in pushing out the boundaries of her magic. She gave the shimmering, phantom disc a quick flick with her mind and sent it spinning faster through the air. ‘All right, Aurora. Now that I have it, what shall I do with it?’
‘Spin it around your body,’ the eagle said. ‘Make it into a cloak to conceal yourself.’
Corisand’s eyes opened wide in sudden understanding. ‘Oh . . . Now I see . . .’
Now that she knew what she was creating, this stage was much easier. A clear visualisation, a slight tug from her will, and she moulded her creation into the form she wanted - more or less a cone shape - and pulled it around her.
Taku chuckled. ‘Remember your head.’
The Windeye imagined her disembodied face floating above the ground and spluttered with laughter. When she had calmed herself, she extended the apex of her spinning cone over the top of her head. ‘Is that better?’
‘Much better,’ Aurora said with warm approval. ‘Now, go and look at yourself in the lake.’
Holding her cloak in place around her, Corisand walked to the lakeshore and knelt to look down into the water. She saw the wavering, rippled reflections of mountains, trees and sky, with Aurora’s intense bands of colour flowing across it. There was absolutely nothing else. ‘Great stars! That’s incredible.’
‘You can be proud of yourself, Windeye,’ Taku told her. ‘That was not an easy spell to master.’
‘Indeed it was not,’ Aurora agreed. ‘You have done well, little sister. Now all you need is practice, both to create your shadow-cloak and to keep it around you wherever you go. It must become like a second skin to you. Then, when you venture into this world, you will be able to conceal yourself at need.’
‘Shadow-cloak.’ Corisand smiled. ‘I like the sound of that.’
‘May it serve you well,’ Taku said. ‘For this is only the beginning. Dispense with your cloak for the present, and spin the air again.’
‘Is this spinning of the air the foundation of all the Windeye’s magic?’ Corisand asked curiously.
‘Most of it,’ Aurora replied. ‘Your powers centre on the manipulation of the air and the wind, little sister, and nothing is more intangible and elusive. But spinning the air into a disc, as you do, turns it into a more manageable substance, and gives you all the control you need.’
‘I see,’ said Corisand. ‘Very well, Taku, I’m ready.’ With a shrugging gesture, she shed the tatters of her shadow-cloak and snatched a handful of clear, streaming air, infusing it with the incandescence of her Othersight, then stretching and moulding it to spin a new disc, smooth and gleaming as a mirror.
‘Good,’ Taku said. ‘Look now, Windeye. See with the eyes of your power and mind. Look into the mirror, and tell me what you see.’
Her heart beating fast with excitement, Corisand gazed into the silver depths of the disc she had created. Despite the difficulties she had experienced in the construction of her shadow-cloak, she felt calm and confident as she faced this new challenge. Having mastered one spell, what had she to fear from another? Not rushing, she watched patiently, relaxing and opening her mind; trying to send forth her thoughts through the shining barrier to the realms of potentiality that lay beyond.
The silvery radiance shimmered and cleared, like drifting clouds banished by a gentle breeze. And the Windeye saw.
There was the lake, exactly as it appeared from her position on the shore. Then suddenly there was an odd shift in her attention, and she realised that she was inside the image. It was as though she had fallen into the mirror. Suddenly she found herself flying, circling above the lake beneath the sheltering arch of colour from Aurora’s wings and seeing Taku’s icy, sinuous white body overlying the ribbon of the glacier that wound away into the mountains. She turned to follow and . . .
‘Not that way.’ Both voices, the serpent and the eagle, spoke in her mind together.
‘Explore away from us,’ said Taku. ‘Forge your own path.’
‘Go your own way,’ Aurora added.
Torn between reluctance and excitement, the Windeye turned away from the familiar, protective comfort of her friends, letting her heart and her magic and her instincts choose her path. Delighting in the thrilling sensations of flight, she swooped down the length of the lake to where it finally narrowed into a river which raced down a series of rapids and little waterfalls to the lands below. These lower regions, with skeins of grey cloud drifting across them, were a patchwork of muskeg: an intaglio of black and silver with its areas of bright water and dark trees.
She made for the broad expanse of ocean that lay beyond, following a coastline toothed with a series of coves and inlets. Inland, to her right, the land was rising, and the muskeg was changing to forested mountains, with dark peaks of rock above their treeline. Small, tree-covered islands were dotted along the coast, looking so tempting to explore that she had to keep reminding herself that this flight was only a vision, and in reality, she was still standing on the shore of Taku’s lake, gazing into the mirror she had made.
Then, in the distance, she saw a tall pinnacle of rock that appeared to be rising directly out of the ocean, a few hundred yards offshore. It drew her as though it had reached out long fingers and yanked her towards it. When she drew closer, she discovered a massive chimney of rugged rock more than a hundred feet tall. Though made of stone, it resembled the stump of an ancient tree that had been ravaged by lightning in the distant past, and was still holding its remains up straight and proud and tall. It stood in an ocean inlet with a background of tree-covered mountains, on a tiny island that was no more than a spit of gravel, so small and flat that it looked as though the rock was rising directly from the waters. Real, living fir trees, straight and tall like dark-green spears, clung to its sides, and bushes clustered on its pinnacle, while the mouth of a cave at its base promised a safe haven for those it chose to protect.
A shiver, part awe, part delight, passed through Corisand as she sensed the vast intelligence and living power, primordial and immense, that it contained. Was it a Moldan? Another of the Evanesar? A different entity entirely?
‘Who are you?’ Even as she sent the thought out, the Windeye cursed herself for a fool. She had just worked incredibly hard to learn the shadow-cloak spell from Aurora, with the precise aim of keeping herself hidden. Now she had revealed her presence to a total stranger, without a thought for her own safety. Was this entity friend or foe? She had no idea.
Then suddenly a voice sounded in her mind: deep, with growling, grinding undertones that held the weight o
f aeons. It reminded her, a little, of Taku’s voice, but older, darker, more sorrowful. ‘I will not commune with a mirror-borne phantasm. Have the courage to seek me out in your corporeal form. Then we will talk.’
Corisand was desperate to investigate, to learn the identity of this newfound being, but this time, journeying through the images in her mirror, she could only observe - and clearly, that was the wisest course. Even so, she sent out a cautious thought towards the newfound entity. ‘I’ll come back,’ she promised. ‘One day I’ll come here in person and find out who, or what, you are.’
‘Come back soon, then. Time is growing short.’
Did these ancient beings get some sort of perverse pleasure out of being so cryptic? Irritated, reluctant, the Windeye left the astonishing stone formation behind and flew on, watching the mountains to her right becoming higher and changing from dark, bare rock to great white peaks, dazzling with snow and ice. Ahead of her the horizon was lost in mist, and a low-hanging bank of ominous cloud bruised the sky. The darkness was spiked with jagged flashes of madness and rumbling concussions of sullen anger, and Corisand could sense the resentment, the resistance barring her way. She was not wanted here. She felt a tight clutch in her belly: part fear, part excitement, for she knew what must lie beyond that barrier of cloud. She had found Ghabal.
The Windeye battled onward, pushing against the ever-strengthening barrier of insanity and fulminating rage. The Moldan hated the world, and was determined to keep it out at any cost. Soon Corisand was finding it increasingly painful to continue, as her mind was buffeted by wave upon wave of scalding fury and an overwhelming torment that jarred every flinching nerve in her body. She was finding it difficult to remember that she was observing this scene through her mirror. Every sensation was as vivid and real as if she had been physically present. And if it could make her feel such pain, could it actually harm the form that awaited her on the shores of the lake? She was absolutely certain it could.
She plunged into the cloud bank, unsure of how far it stretched or what dangers it concealed, but determined to penetrate the Mad One’s disguise. Blackness engulfed her, and she could do nothing but force her way forward blindly, with that savage will trying to beat her back and the howls and curses of the demented Moldan ripping through her mind. It was impossible to tell how much progress she was making, or in what direction she was headed. She could only keep pushing forward painfully, fighting the torrent of resentment, pain and rage. Corisand realised that she was sharing Ghabal’s agony, and was overcome with pity for him. How could he bear such torture? How unthinkable, to be forced to carry this burden of suffering down all the long ages. The Windeye felt as if her mind and body were being torn to pieces. The temptation to turn and flee was overwhelming, but she thought of her people enslaved, herself trapped for ever without magic in the form of a dumb beast, and from somewhere found the courage to keep going.
As she penetrated further into the smothering darkness, the Windeye discovered something beyond the turbulence of Ghabal’s emotions, which lifted her hopes and stiffened her determination. Power, vast and eternal. Profound and ancient magic that beat like a living heart.
The Fialan.
Emerald light began to pulse through the thick cloud and the barriers of dark, churning vapour finally began to thin. Without warning Corisand broke through, and found herself in the open. She floundered and halted in mid-air, suddenly very glad that she was not physically present in that place. At least now she would have the perfect opportunity to observe and study her enemy: hopefully the tormented entity was still unaware of her presence.
The Windeye looked down at the Moldan’s stronghold, a vast eminence that towered thousands of feet above the surrounding pinnacles of the northern range. Closer study, however, revealed that it was not what it first appeared to be. Unlike the other mountains, which were veiled in ice and snow but with solid rock beneath, this peak had a pale, translucent glow like an uncut gemstone. With a shock, the Windeye realised that it was formed from solid ice, with no foundation of stone whatsoever. What was more, its heart was hollow. The green radiance of the Fialan, hidden deep within, shone out through the ice, and there was something more - the vague shadow of a dark, twisted shape, the very sight of which filled Corisand with profound and chilling fear.
The Windeye switched to her Othersight to penetrate the clouded depths of the ice mountain - and gasped at what she saw. The Moldan was so badly twisted and deformed that it was difficult to guess at its original shape. It seemed to be writhing in and out of a number of forms, as if trying to find one in which its pain could be allayed. The only constants in that black, amorphous monstrosity were a pair of glaring crimson eyes that smouldered with the intensity of its suffering. In writhing limbs it grasped the Fialan - though, by the way it was constantly shifting its burden, the Stone was hurting the Mad One just as much as its injuries.
Corisand looked on, her horror vying with compassion. ‘Is there no one, in this world or the other, with the power to heal such suffering?’ she murmured to herself. ‘Surely there must be some way to help this tormented creature.’ Shocked and saddened, she turned to leave, but . . .
Suddenly those mad, red eyes glared upwards, transfixing the Windeye like burning spears. He saw her. He saw her.
In her mind, his voice sounded like the tortured grate of rock upon massive rock. ‘There is no help or healing for me. Flee, puny creature, unless you wish to meet the same fate.’
Corisand fought down the instant panicked urge to turn tail. ‘I don’t want to leave,’ she said stoutly. ‘I want to aid you.’
‘I am beyond all help.’ With his words, Corisand found herself trapped; held in a grip that surrounded her as though she had been entombed in solid stone. The pain that she shared with the Mad One increased tenfold, a hundredfold, a thousandfold, until she could barely think, could barely remember her identity. The inside of her brain was one solid, eternal scream
With every ounce of her strength, every fibre of her being, she reached within herself, seeking the power to pull free. It wasn’t working. Again she strained; in fear she tried to strike out, but nothing was happening. Slowly but surely, she felt herself being drawn in, to become a prisoner, part of Ghabal’s rage and agony for ever.
Then it happened. Something came out of nowhere - a force, a presence, a personality . . . It all happened so quickly that she could not tell exactly what transpired, but the image in her mind was that of the strange towerlike rock formation in the midst of the ocean. It struck out at Ghabal, at the same time yanking her free. Then it was gone, leaving one word:
Basileus.
Corisand fled. Only when she felt she was truly at a safe distance did she turn back to address Ghabal.
‘I will leave if that is your wish,’ she said, ‘but your pain will stay in my thoughts, and if I ever find a way to assuage your suffering, I promise that I will return.’ Backing away, she made her retreat - not slowly, exactly, but at least in good order.
‘If you ever return here, then the more fool you.’ With that final threat, the Moldan was lost from sight.
Then Corisand felt the peculiar sideslip of reality that meant she was being returned to her own world - presumably the Evanesar were reacting, somewhat belatedly, to the peril in which she had found herself.
Not now, she thought. I have so many questions. Even as the protest formed in her mind, she found herself back in her paddock beneath the shady trees, helpless in her equine form once more. Corisand stamped her foot in frustration. If only she could have stayed longer in the Elsewhere. How could she find the answers she sought if she was yanked back every time she started to get somewhere? The Evanesar looked at things differently. They had the perspective of aeons to govern their thinking, but she did not have forever at her disposal. Next time, she vowed, I’m going to find the Stone of Fate, if it’s the last thing I do.
The memory of the Moldan, of his strength and his insanity, loomed in her mind, and a shiver passed thr
ough her. She only hoped that her vow would not end as prophecy.
24
THE GRIM FACE OF TRUTH
Another day, another camp. Taine examined the remnants - not that there were many, for Esmon excelled at woodcraft - of the dismantled campsite, scrabbling with his knife blade at the patch of new-turned earth that covered the fireplace. The ashes were fresh, and still held the faintest trace of heat. Over by the river, a little area of grass had been grazed down by the hobbled horses, and he could discern both hoofprints and human footprints on the bent and flattened turf.
Rising, Taine straightened his back and returned to his own mount. Even though he had taken an extra day’s rest in Tyrineld at Cyran’s insistence, he would catch up with Avithan and his companions today - probably within the next hour or two. While they had been travelling at a careful pace through the forest, he had been hard upon their trail, but had been delayed because one of his horses had gone lame, and had needed to be left with a group of loggers. With only one horse, his pace through the forest had necessarily been slower, and he didn’t like travelling with but a single animal. Too much could go wrong. It was a relief to think that he was finally in reach of the others. He would make it on time after all. At the rate they were going, it looked as though they wouldn’t reach the border of the Phaerie realm until tomorrow.