by Martin Ash
‘The Avari were winged humans, were they not?’
‘That is how they have generally been depicted. You seem troubled by this, Dinbig.’
‘Not troubled, but curious. As you yourself said, Sacred Mother; one cannot help but wonder whether the arrival of this note at this time is purely coincidental.’
‘Have you learned something you have not told us?’
I shook my head, deep in thought. ‘It occurs to me that I might benefit from speaking with the spirits of the ancestors, for perhaps they can tell me something more of the Avari.’
Ancestral spirits may be summoned to an ethereal meeting- place, to which a Zan-Chassin may also journey, leaving his body in the charge of his Custodian. It can prove a useful means of gaining information or guidance, specifically in regard to the past; but it is not a certain method, for the ancestral spirits do not welcome being disturbed from their slumbers.
Hisdra lifted a bony hand. ‘I have already consulted with the ancestors on your behalf, Dinbig. They told me nothing more than you now know.’
I nodded. The image remained large within my mind. Was there a significance, an element of precognition in my dream, something that I had yet to fully understand? Or had Sermilio’s note and the symbol simply stirred long-buried associations and brought them to the surface? I felt deeply unsettled, but could draw no conclusion.
At a signal from Hisdra the members of the Hierarchy, all bar she and Eldana, now withdrew. We three spoke for a while longer. Attention was given to my disguise and to the items I would be required to take on my journey to Anxau, such as the gidsha root and additional ingredients required in its preparation immediately prior to consumption. I was briefed thoroughly on the manner in which I was expected to conduct my investigations of Feikermun, but it did nothing to allay my fears. More than ever I realized that I was to be alone among enemies, at the potential mercy of fiends.
With dismal conviction a single thought persisted in my mind:
I was a First Realm Zan-Chassin Initiate. I was useful. I was skilled, and I knew myself to be possessed of certain innate talents and wiles.
But I was also expendable.
*
That night I shut myself in my workroom at home and entered trance. In the way that I have been taught to do over years of training, I concentrated upon the objects in my chamber. I absorbed their forms, every detail that was available to sight, committing it all to subtle memory. Then I turned my attention to my physical self, every muscle, nerve, sinew and organ, consolidating and familiarizing. The Zan-Chassin call this process ‘anchoring’, establishing a contact with the world one is about to depart in order that one may safely find one’s way back.
In fact my intention was not to journey within the Realms tonight, but rather to consult with my Custodian, Yo. With the first preparation complete, feeling myself suffused with spirit I dissolved the features of my chamber. I let go of the physical world and rose from my body.
I summoned Yo.
He was with me on the instant. ‘You called, Master?’
‘I have something important to tell you, Yo.’
‘Do you wish me to take charge of your fleshly self, Master, while you journey elsewhere?’
‘No. Not at the moment.’ I sensed his disappointment. Upon binding him to my service there had been two main elements to our compact. In the first place Yo was to serve as Custodian of my flesh whenever I left the corporeal plane, for whatever reason. And in the second I was to provide him with a physical body through which he might explore the myriad unfamiliar wonders of the physical world.
For a Realm Entity it is a tremendous privilege to enter living flesh. They are easily seduced by the world and take every opportunity to acquaint themselves with the corporeal. I had elected to give Yo the body of a Wide-Faced Bear, a creature quite common to our lands. The ritual was complex, however, and required much preparation, which I had not yet had time to do. Thus, for the present, Yo remained unembodied other than for those infrequent occasions when he took custody of my own flesh. Plainly he had been charmed by the experience, despite the fact that his sole task was to keep my body perfectly motionless and ensure that it suffered no disturbance or discomfort. So I felt how a pang of self-reproach as he gently reminded me of my failure to provide him with flesh of his own.
‘I am to embark upon an important mission,’ I said, ‘and have good reason to believe I may require your services. Be on hand, then, and alert for my summons at all times. My need may be urgent. Do not question anything I tell you, and be prepared to depart immediately at my word. I may be placing myself in danger by summoning you.’
‘Will I be in danger too, Master?’
‘Not directly. But bear in mind that my survival may depend upon the interaction between us, and that should my life be brought to a premature end I would be unable to fulfil my promise to you to provide you with a physical form.’
‘That would be regrettable. I think I like your world.’
‘I, too, am quite attached to it. I would not wish to take permanent leave of it just yet. Now, Yo, listen please. Your primary role will be as message-bearer between myself and those with whom I work. It is vital that all messages be relayed promptly and accurately.’
‘I understand, Master.’
‘Good. I shall speak with you again in due course.’
‘Can I ask a question, Master?’
‘You may.’
‘Is this you that I see seated here? You do not appear to be yourself.’
I glanced down at the body seated below us. It was true: I was unrecognizable. The disguise Hisdra and Eldana had effected for me was far more thorough than I had expected. With the aid of profound raptures not revealed to lowly initiates like myself, the very form of my face had been altered. My elegant fair-brown locks had been replaced by a shock of long black bristle. My whiskers, in which I took great pride, were gone, in their place the stubbly beginnings of a dark shadow of beard. My nose was fuller, fleshier; my chin broader. My body, too, had filled out slightly.For several hours, until I adjusted to the changes, I had felt I resided in unfamiliar flesh. In addition, fine clothing had been replaced by rough travelling leathers and fust. The transformation both reassured and chilled me. I did not resemble myself. And I thought again: that other person, out there somewhere — how was it that he did?
‘It is I, Yo,’ I replied distractedly. ‘But you are right, I have changed. It is for a purpose. Now you may go, but be alert for my summons at all times.’
‘I am your servant, Master.’
Yo was gone.
I returned to my flesh and remained deep in thought for some time. Hisdra, the Chariness, had denied that it was possible to create a perfect imitation of someone through magic. But, when I had first seen myself after she and Eldana had completed their work upon me, I had asked again, concerned.
She shook her head. ‘What you see here as you view yourself in the mirror is a mock-up, albeit one that others could not achieve as effectively. It is a random alteration of your own features. We have made no attempt to have you resemble another: we have simply made you unrecognizable as yourself.’ Eldana added, ‘We cannot create perfect representations of a specific face. We might make you resemble another person, but the disguise would be shallow. It would not fool anyone to whom that person is well known.’
‘But to effect the disguise you have employed magic. Feikermun is said to be sensitive to magic.’
‘The magic is employed only in the making. Once it is complete the magic is finished. There is nothing, therefore, for Feikermun or anyone else to detect.’
I had had little choice but to be satisfied with these answers. My eyes came to rest once again on the chunk of green amber on my desk. Once again I lifted it and gazed at the tiny creatures trapped within its glassy depths.
Wirm of Guling Mire. I wondered at the coincidence of his having sold me the piece, then having claimed more recently to have seen me in chains in Anxau and to h
ave knowledge of my execution.
Did he play any part in this strange business? Guling Mire, I knew, was a small settlement in western Kutc’p, lying close upon the Urvysh Plains in marshlands south of the Great White River. It is no great distance from the border with Anxau, and a detour there would not add much more than a day to my journey. Perhaps it might be expedient to pay Wirm a visit. There was no guarantee of finding him at Guling Mire, but I could make enquiries en route.
I stood, and upon a whim took the amber and wrapped it carefully in strong cloth, then slipped it into the pack I would carry on my journey.
Five
My first stop was Riverway, in Kutc’p. The journey there took a little more than a day. Bris met me early on a fresh spring morning outside Hon-Hiaita’s Sharmanian Gate, called by a messenger I had sent to him at dawn. He arrived on his chestnut gelding, garbed in padded leather and a lamellar cuirass. A longsword in a battered scabbard slanted back from his belt; a smooth-helved battle-axe hung from his saddle; upon his pack was strapped a bow and a quiver of arrows. From experience I knew Bris to be a stout-hearted and more than capable weapons-man, and felt greatly reassured by his presence, though I did not anticipate particular danger between here and Riverway. It would be in the later stages of my journey, where Bris could not accompany me, that I would most need reassurance.
Affecting a hoarseness, my hand raised to my throat as though it pained me to speak, I introduced myself without embellishment as Linias Cormer. I faced Bris full on at a distance of little more than arm’s-length, for it was essential to determine at the outset the efficacy of my disguise. His features remained easy, and though I watched him carefully I saw no indication that he suspected duplicity.
Of course, Bris was an astute and intelligent fellow. I would never have permitted him to occupy a position of such responsibility and trust had that not been so. It may well have been, then, that he had something of an inkling that perhaps all was not quite as it appeared on the surface, but he knew better than to ask questions. Most importantly, I remained convinced that he did not suspect that the man with whom he travelled was actually myself.
We rode on our way into the bright morning. The road, Water Street, leads south across Sharmanian Meadows, following the course of the River Huss south as far as Hoost’s Corner. Here there is an intersection of ways. The southern route runs through Morshover Vale, climbing and twisting into the Red Mountains and Sirroma beyond: east it runs deep into the central provinces of Khimmur and, eventually, the great forested land of Var and the plains of Ashaka. Our route was west on to Wetlan’s Way, through the hills and woodlands of the dhoma of Beliss.
The woods lay in dappled sunlight, the ground brightly coloured with fresh spring flowers. The clear air chimed with birdsong, and small creatures scurried on the earth and busied themselves in the trees. One could almost imagine the world to be an untroubled place.
Two hours into our journey the breeze brought a slight taint to our nostrils. Bris raised his hand, slowing his mount. ‘A rankbeast.’
We proceeded with caution, the horses nervous. The rank-beast is a lumbering monster, dangerous if aroused, but it does not by choice or habit roam close to men. It can generally be avoided without great difficulty, as its tough, armoured skin exudes a noxious substance which gives off a powerful stench, providing ample warning of its proximity. Additionally, it is a clumsy thing; its lumberings can often be heard long before it is seen.
Briefly we heard the creature crashing in the woods further up the slopes. From a highpoint on the road we observed the sway and shudder of strong saplings as it lurched through, and just once caught a glimpse of its huge, sweating back. The rankbeast’s passage bore it away from the road and we passed on unmenaced.
With the sun a little way beyond its zenith we reached the Guardian Sisters, ancient twin watchtowers which, facing into Kutc’p, flank the road at Khimmur’s border. A fascinating tale surrounds these twins of stone. They were built at a time lost to the memories or written records of men, but are said to house the discorporate souls of a pair of giant sisters named Egathta and Mawg. Aeons ago these two fell in love with a young human noble called Draremont who ventured into their homeland, Wansir. The land of Ravenscrag, Draremont’s home, had fallen under the influence of a bane. His family, his people, the very lands in which they dwelt were threatened with ruin and destruction unless a means could be found to quell the bane’s evil power. Draremont was engaged upon a quest to save Ravenscrag, and believed that the ancient giant race of Wansir, the Thótan, could help.
Upon his arrival the giants treated him as a welcome and honoured guest in their community, but sadly were unable to offer him any assistance. He returned home, believing that Ravenscrag was lost.
The two sisters, Egathta and Mawg - who were alike in feature, thought and action - had become fascinated by this man Draremont. For many generations the Thótan had lived in isolation, far from human dwellings, and Draremont was the first human the sisters had ever laid eyes upon. They were enchanted by the tragic nature of his quest, and wanted to know more about him. His departure saddened them, and for days they moped and mourned as though stricken by some mysteriously debilitating illness.
Confiding only in one another, the sisters found themselves impelled to follow Lord Draremont in the belief that somehow they might aid him. So, foolishly, one night they stole from their huts and left the village of the Thótan, seeking Ravenscrag and Lord Draremont and intending to return only when their task was complete.
But they became lost, for they had never before been far from their home. For days, then weeks, they wandered hopelessly. Occasionally they came upon human settlements, but the people fled them in terror or, worse, attacked them with axes, spears and flaming arrows. Word spread through the land of a pair of marauding giants attacking villages and towns, and one day Egathta and Mawg came over a hilltop to find a small army confronting them. Great catapults launched massive stones and flaming barrels of oil at the two sisters; platoons of mounted knights charged them from all directions, hacking and stabbing at their thighs, bellies and buttocks; archers in their scores fired upon them from the cover of rocks and trees, until their skins bristled with arrows and the blood coursed in torrents from their massive bodies.
The sisters fled, howling in pain and distress. Everywhere they
went the tale was the same: men reacted with panic and violence. Egathta and Mawg were driven further and further from their homeland. They did not know where they were or how they might return. They wandered in terrible distraction, utterly lost, hopelessly calling out in the night the name of the man they wished to save: Draremont.
But a year passed, and another, and they did not find Ravenscrag or Draremont. Nor did they find their way home. And though they came upon many races and many men, no one would help them.
On a cold, rainswept evening the huge twins arrived at the bank of the Great White River. They waded across and found themselves upon the northern edge of the lonely Kutc’p Plains. Exhausted and terrified they made their way vaguely east, avoiding anyone they saw, until they came to a low hill. Upon its gentle crest they sat down, side by side, too tired to continue. Egathta gazed west across Kutc’p’s chill grasslands; Mawg gazed east into the bare wintry woodlands that would one day be Khimmur. And together they sang a song, a disconsolate chant, a forlorn dedication to the human they loved, for whom they had unwittingly sacrificed so much.
‘Draremont,’ they sang, and their sad voices carried upon the bitter winds. ‘Draremont, Draremont, Draremont, Draremont...’
And there they died. Much later men found their bones and raised two towers over them in celebration of the deaths of the evil giants who had terrorized their lands. The towers still stand, but the bones have long gone, taken as talismans, souvenirs, relics, and distributed who knows where. But within the towers the souls of Egathta and Mawg remain, so it is said, ever gazing in hope of one day seeing the man they love. And the winds sometimes stil
l carry their mournful lament, bearing it east, west, north, south, seeking ears that will never hear it.
For many years, so I understand, the twin towers remained empty for fear of the vengeful giants’ souls within. But at some undetermined time a Khimmurian king elected to use them as prisons. Criminals convicted of the most monstrous crimes were incarcerated within and left to rot. Much later magic was employed to subdue the two sisters’ tormented souls, and eventually the Guardian Sisters became the watchtowers they are today.
The Beliss sentries, Lord Mintral’s men, hailed us as we approached, and we halted for a short while to rest our horses and gather any news relevant to our journey and the road ahead. The woodlands had begun to thin half a league back, and from the Guardian Sisters we gazed now upon the wide, gently undulating grasslands of Kutc’p, a hundred shades of green, shadowed by fluffs of quick white cloud and rippling like a swelling sea in the breeze. Eventually, Bris and I moved on, refreshed, and for the remainder of that day travelled in near silence, meeting no one.