The Window and the Mirror

by Henry Thomas

  “Aye, lady, my lady.” The man growled out and scuttled down the rigging nimbly.

  “Just lead your horses on and we’ll tie’em to the mainmast” Joth snapped his head back around and nodded to the silken-clad woman with the plume of feathers in her broad felt hat. “As you say, lady.”

  Eilyth dismounted and led Aila up the gangway with some coaxing, with the dish-faced bay following him resolutely; but try as he might, the white horse refused the gangway no matter how Joth pushed or pulled. The squads were kicking up a cloud of dust and were drawing ever nearer to the skyharbor as they hurried down the road from the gatehouse. When the white gelding refused the plank for the third time, Joth looked at Eilyth pleadingly, but she was looking at the soldiers’ progress as they marched toward them. He tried to throw off the feeling of fear and unrest threatening to overtake him. He breathed deeply and focused on the horse’s eye. It was deep and dark and white-rimmed, rolling. There was fear there, but also wonder and curiosity. There was intelligence, and caution and worry, but beneath it all, trust. He knew when he looked at the horse that it trusted him, and he realized in that moment that he trusted it as well. They had been through adventures together, they had relied on each other, and more importantly they had come through for each other.

  “Never to worry, my friend,” Joth said to the white horse softly and felt he had caught a spark of recognition in its dark eye, then he turned and started up the ramp and the gelding stopped for a moment and splayed out its forelegs, but then it followed him with halting steps up the gangplank. The strange disembodied feeling that came over him as he set foot on the decks of the airship was mirrored in his equine counterpart, which started a bit when he came off the gangplanks. But he followed Joth to the mainmast beneath the brightly painted, bulbous, tubular mainsail that ran beyond the length of the deck. There was a strange look on Lady Eilyth’s face when she caught his eyes after he had handed off the horse to one of the four men of the airship’s crew that “sailed” with them, and he realized she was looking right at him. He threw a look over his shoulder but the Borsford town soldiers had not made it down off of the road yet, and the cloud of dust was rising a good quarter mile away by his reckoning. No, Eilyth was looking at him as he made his way toward her.

  “You spoke to him then,” she said appraisingly. “You spoke with your heart.”

  “My heart?” he said lowly.

  “The horse. You spoke to him with your heart and he listened.”

  She turned away from him and looked to the captain who was barking orders at the four crewmen. Joth was left looking at her.

  “Away the lines! Raising off!” The airship captain’s voice sounded shrill, but it carried, and her men obeyed her.

  Joth heard cries from fore and aft, answering her “Aye, lady, aye!” and two of the crewmen slipped over the sides down the tethering lines from the two ends of the deck and scurried down the ropes, dropping to the ground.

  “Ready, all hands!” The captain cried again, and the airship’s crewmen that remained went to the fore and aft and looked down on the progress of their fellows below. The ship’s captain went to the helm and took a delicate-looking bronze wand from its place at her belt and inserted it into the side of a column of wood and brass that stood there.

  “Stand by!” she cried again.

  Joth felt the ship lurch ever so slightly, and he realized one of the lines was free as the crewman coiled in the line that served as a tether on the rear of the airship, on its starboard side.

  “Aft starboard, line clear!”

  “Fore and aft, signal!” the crewman growled from the prow of the ship, it was Elmund that one, Joth noted.

  Two cries of “aye, ready!” came from before him and behind him, and then it was the ship’s captain at the column saying loudly, “On my mark! One, two, three! Release!”

  Joth felt the ship lurch and rock for a moment, and he was filled with a strange sensation in the pit of his bowels as the ship began to slowly rise into the air. He looked to Eilyth and saw fear in her eyes.

  “Report!” cried the captain.

  “Underway, lady!” came the voices of the crewmen at the ends of the deck. The ship jostled as it rose, and Joth realized that the two crewmen who had untethered the airship were dangling from the tethering lines and climbing them hand over hand to regain their positions on deck. He chanced a look over the side and nearly tasted his hard-won breakfast again. The ground was lurching and he was higher than he had ever been, even higher than the wall at Immerdale, and that was near twenty-five yards. The two crewmen pulling hand over hand and shimmying up the ropes were near to the hull now, but Joth could see the town guard spilling into the Skyharbor and making their way toward the rising airship. Joth could make out the lilac-and-green Innkeeper among their number, brandishing his crossbow.

  The airship captain moved the lever to another position. The ship buzzed with energy for a brief moment. Eilyth looked at him nervously.

  “All hands, report when ready!”

  Joth saw the one crewman helping the other over the webbed rope netting at the aft of the ship.

  “All hands ready aft, lady!”

  Joth saw the crewman named Elmund in the fore of the ship bend and put his hand out for the crewman struggling up the tether rope when the man slipped and cried out. Elmund fell to the deck and cried out, “Help!”

  Joth ran to the man’s aid. When he got to the prone crewman, he saw that the man on the tether who was dangling had lost the line now and was only holding on to Elmund’s wrist, and Elmund was not able to haul him up.

  He lay down and extended his arms and grabbed hold of the man’s hand and together he and Elmund hauled the man to his feet on the deck.

  “Lucky Dathe,” said Elmund to the man whom they had saved.

  The man called Dathe was young, maybe of an age with Joth but perhaps even a few years younger. He hadn’t seen more than twenty-two summers, Joth thought. Dathe was a bit pale after nearly falling to his death, but he covered it with humor as well as he could.

  “It ain’t so easy to kill me, Elmund! Why I’m a regular eagle of the skie—” He clutched at the back of his neck as the eyes in his head rolled up and Joth saw blood pouring from his lips and the head of a crossbow bolt shot out of his mouth. He pitched forward into Elmund, who fell onto the deck beneath the man’s convulsing body as Dathe went into his death throes, spattering him with blood.

  There was screaming, and Joth turned to Eilyth and screamed “Get down!” as he lay down and peered over the side of the rising ship.

  One of the guardsmen had knocked the crossbow from the hands of the lever happy innkeeper and was upbraiding him violently and loudly in the Skyharbor below. Elmund had scrambled to his feet, blood covering his colorful silken clothes and tears of rage in his eyes, screaming, “Bloody bastards! They’ve killed Dathe!”

  The crew and the captain let go with a tirade of cursing and woeful cries, raining insults and threats at the rapidly dwindling guardsmen on the ground.

  “You!” cried Elmund, pointing at Eilyth and Joth. “You’ve brought him his death!”

  He started toward them and Joth stepped between the man and Eilyth. He held his sword before him.

  “Are you threatening me, you bloody dirtworm?” Elmund drew a curved short bladed sword that hung at his belt behind him.

  “Stand down, Elmund. Your blood’s up and you’ll act the fool.” It was the captain. Elmund listened and reluctantly sheathed his blade. He shook his head and shouted in rage as he walked away.

  It was obvious that the captain had not expected a confrontation with the town guard that would result in the death of one of her crew, and that she wanted to get the situation under her control as soon as possible. She eyed Joth and Eilyth suspiciously. Elmund went back to where Dathe’s body lay on the deck.

  “Make underway!” she said. “Se
t sails! We will observe funeral rites once we are clear of this bloody mess.”

  She shook her head in the direction of Dathe’s dead body then turned and pointed to Joth and Eilyth. “You two, get below decks.” She motioned to the ladder that was set into the deck at the forecastle.

  Joth was about to argue, but Eilyth touched his arm and turned him toward the forecastle and led him below. “Wait, they grieve. We shall speak to them later.”

  They climbed down the four rungs of the ladder and through a small doorway, and they were immediately below the main deck. Joth had to stoop a bit to avoid scraping his head above. There in the hold was the ship’s cargo, bundles of burlap and twine-covered rectangles stacked in an orderly fashion and held in place by rope nets to keep the items from shifting as the airship lurched and twisted in the wind. He was looking at the cargo that packed the hold from end to end when he heard Eilyth call to him.

  “Look, Joth. Look at the world now.” She was standing near the prow where a porthole was set into the wooden wall of the hull, looking out of it intently with wonder in her eyes.

  Joth looked out and his breath caught in his chest. Everything was miniature, the town, the trees, the hills, and the animals and people moving about on the surface of the miniature world seemed to move more slowly. He could make out the Skyharbor and the town wall of Borsford below them, looking like a jumble of bricks and broad rectangular plains, as though a child of gigantic proportions sat down with his building blocks and built a castle on a hill. He could see men and carts and horses like ants winding their way up and down the roads that spiraled out neatly from the center of the town. It had grown colder, and the wind whipped at his hair and face, his breath frosting and his eyes watering. The airship creaked and the sails snapped taut and the ropes groaned as they harnessed the power of the wind and the craft pitched slightly forward, flying. It was a strange feeling, not altogether comfortable. The horses whinnied nervously, and Joth could hear the deckhands calling to each other and the shrill voice of the captain as she ordered them to scurry here and there. He looked behind him out of the porthole and he could see the sails raked and straining under the wind that was pushing them along through the sky. The ship was climbing still, and the white fluffy clouds that Joth had always thought were as solid as the ground were dissolved into a foggy mist as they rose through them, bathing everything in icy dew. He looked out at the blanket of clouds, a sea of white that they floated above peacefully. Joth had never seen anything like it.

  “What will become of him?” she asked softly.

  “Who? I suppose they will bury him.”

  “No, the innkeeper. The murderer.”

  “He’ll have to answer to charges. He should be hanged.”

  “He was trying to kill you, Joth. Trying to kill us, because we are different from him.”

  Yes, he thought, because he regarded us as savages; because he had been told his entire life that the Dawn Tribe was comprised of the worst element of liars and thieves who would murder your children and slit your throats in the night.

  “Yes, lady. It’s just ignorance.” He meant it to soothe her but it only sounded empty.

  “What of the High Mage?”

  “Lady?”

  “If an innkeeper acts this way, then how will the High Mage receive us?” Joth had no idea how to answer, he did not even know who the High Mage was or what sort of man he might be. He had not thought much past getting Eilyth to Twinton. Now he did not even have his writ and with the death of her crewmember he was not sure if the captain would ever give it back to him.

  “I know not, lady. I’ll serve to get you there as best I can.”

  “I know you will. I just question the wisdom of it now.”

  Joth did not know what to say, so he said nothing. Eilyth was thinking, and she stared out of the porthole at the cloud sea and chewed at her bottom lip pensively for a long time and said nothing. Joth watched her and wanted to say something, but words were hard to find and they all felt empty when he weighed them. At last he took his cloak and wrapped it about her shoulders, over her own. It was bitter cold now, high in the sky as they were, but Joth pretended not to be bothered by it. She started to protest but he wrapped it around her anyway.

  “Don’t fear, lady.”

  She smiled at him and he smiled back. Even if he could not know what was going to happen or how the High Mage would receive them, he knew that he would not let anything happen to her. Not because of Wat or his orders or Traegern and his oath, but because of her. It was the only thing Joth could be sure of as the wind blew he and Eilyth across the skies high above Oesteria.

  Thirteen

  Rhael sat in the stone cell and listened to the now-familiar sound of the Kuilbolts chattering as they passed the door of his prison. The heavy door was lifted and a brass tin filled with gruel was left for him, then the door was slammed shut again. Rhael waited until their footsteps receded down the hall, the sounds of several more doors lifting and slamming down again letting him know that he was not the only guest of the Kuilbolts here in their dungeons. Slowly he stood, testing his mending leg with his full weight incrementally. It burned and throbbed, causing him to wince and clench his jaw. How it enraged him, waiting for his frail body to mend. His eye was still swollen shut, but the swelling on his forehead had gone away. He limped forward to retrieve his gruel. The gruel was always cold, and nearly flavorless. Sometimes there were bits of meat in it, but Rhael had not a clue as to what type of beast it came from. It tasted of pork, he thought, but everything was said to taste of pork, and that was dullard’s talk. He simply ate it as quickly as he could and waited for the bitter sleep milk and hardware to administer it. He was licking the gruel from his fingers and waiting for them against the far wall of his cell when they came for him, Iztklish and Krilshk with their ratskin wine sack filled with the strange milky fluid and their beaten bronze funnel. It was the routine now, the mark by which he measured his time, such as it was.

  “Does it wax stronger today?” Iztklish was holding the sack.

  “Yess. It waxes. Look at its matter.” Krilshk approached Rhael with his strange birdlike gait.

  Rhael raised himself on to his knees and put his hands on the floor as he had been instructed when they had brought him to the cell for the first time many feedings ago, the picture of obedience. They had cracked their whips at him until he obeyed, but once he found out that they were giving him more of what he wanted, he complied, and they had praised him. Now when they come their whips stay at their belts, Rhael mused. He was quite pleased with himself for gaining their trust so quickly.

  “It knows humility. It respects its masters.” Iztklish stated as Krilshk approached and stroked Rhael’s head with a cold three-fingered hand.

  “What a well-behaved forest child.” Krilshk spoke slowly and deliberately and cocked his head at Rhael. He whipped the funnel up from his belt and tilted Rhael’s head back as Iztklish approached with the bag and its bone spout. Rhael opened his mouth voluntarily and tried to open his throat as they filled the funnel and let it drain into him.

  The burning liquid no longer made him convulse, but he still could not shake the initial pain that set in after he swallowed it down. His eyes teared up and his nose began to drip as Krilshk put the funnel away and they both backed toward the door of the cell. Iztklish wrung the empty bag in his hands as Krilshk scratched at the door with his three-clawed hand, making a high-pitched sound.

  “Perhaps it walks in the next feedings?”

  “Perhaps it does. Perhaps we harvest it next? We shall see.” Iztklish said it as the door was raised and he and Krilshk slunk through the portal. It slammed shut again, but for Rhael it mattered not because the door he was seeking was growing more substantial and real, and once he succeeded in opening it, no prison in the world could contain him. Rhael could feel his limbs begin to sag as the bitter potion took its course within him. He
reached out and sought for the door within his mind again. Slowly and methodically Rhael sought for the door and ignored the potions’ narcotic effect, willing himself to concentrate on finding and opening it. He was able to do this longer and longer each time after the feedings.

  It was hard for Rhael to stay awake and focused after imbibing the milk. His thoughts began to swim, his vision blurred, but he was working toward a goal and that goal was revenge on the filthy, rat-whipping Kuilbolts, then the bloody Dawn Tribe in its entirety. These thoughts would propel him toward the door and allow him glimpses at harnessing energies, but his focus would lapse or his physical state would pull him away and he would lose sight of it once more. It frustrated him beyond everything else about his wretched condition when he would awaken and recollect nothing of the moments before the sleep drug took him. He had to keep his observations in line with his progressions toward unlocking the energies, especially if he were to present it as a new thesis before the council.

  Once he was free of this place he would have much to tell the Magistry about his little survey adventure, and for certain they would have an interest in learning that there are rat-whipping, blue-skinned reptilian Oestersh speakers trundling about in carts in the bowels of the earth sailing ships of human skin and hair across cold blue lakes in the dark…he was drifting, drifting, drifting…

  Rhael attempted to shake away the sleepiness that the drink had brought on. He had let his mind wander again. It was the drink, he knew, but he had to resist. Focus now, he willed himself to think, seek the door and that is all. It was always so easy with the elixirs, how they sparked his mind and brought everything into sharper clarity; but this milk had the opposite effect, it dulled and slowed him. He felt as though he were under the water again, blind and flailing in the icy cold. He could feel the world shrinking around him and he knew that the potion was seizing control of him, forcing him down into sleep. He redoubled his efforts. Not long now and it will take me, thought Rhael, I must find the door or sleep shall overwhelm me. He fought through the heavy fog that had settled into his mind and pushed onward, inward to the door. He knew it so well, the path. He had traveled it many a time, so familiar it was to him. At last he was there, standing on the precipice of his mind and the realm of energy, energy that he could reach out and use to manipulate this world of sticks and stones, blood and weakness.