by Roger Taylor
‘These must be ten times the value of those you’re carrying,’ he said breathlessly. ‘Who is this man, carrying wealth like that so casually around his neck? I thought he was just a novice, but he must be a Higher Brother. What are we going to do?’
Atlon shook his head. ‘For this one, nothing,’ he said. ‘He’s beyond any help.’ He stroked Dvolci’s head, though for his own comfort, not the felci’s. ‘He paid the price of what he was doing. It was inevitable. I did my best to protect him from himself, but…’ His voice tailed off.
‘I don’t understand. What’s happened to him?’ Heirn persisted. Atlon looked down at the green crystals. ‘Like me, he has – had – some skill in the use of the Power. Unlike me, whoever instructed him led him grievously astray, teaching him to use it – misuse it – through the crystals.’ He folded the kerchief and put it in his pocket.
‘What are you doing?’ Heirn exclaimed, horrified. Then he immediately answered his own question. ‘You can’t do that. Robbing him. Isn’t it enough that you…’
He stopped uncomfortably.
‘Murdered him?’ Atlon asked rhetorically, but without any rancour. ‘I didn’t murder him. I defended myself, then I tried to stop him from killing himself.’ He stood up. ‘If anything killed him, it was these.’ He patted his pocket. ‘I’ll wager they were clear, or scarcely tinted a few moments ago. Now they’re tainted with all it was that animated this poor creature.’
Heirn’s mind was whirling. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said agitatedly. ‘The man was alive, now he’s dead. And you’re stealing from him – taking crystals worth an unimaginable amount. We have to tell someone about this – the Weartans, probably. And find out who those things belong to – his family – the Order – I don’t know.’
Atlon looked down at the dead Kyrosdyn and, for a moment, his face distorted as though he were about to weep. His voice was unsteady when he spoke. ‘You must do what you see fit, Heirn, but Dvolci and I can’t stay. If this man’s typical of the Kyrosdyn, then what they’re doing is unbelievably dangerous – to themselves, to everyone around them, and not least to this city. I have to learn more about it. My people have to be told. They’re the only ones who can do anything. If the Kyrosdyn learn about me, they’ll seek me out, just as he did, and sooner or later they’ll find and attack me, just as he did. The consequences could be appalling.’ He took the neckerchief from his pocket. ‘As for these, to leave them here might be to sentence some passing innocent to death.’ He took Heirn’s arm. ‘I know you’ve no reason to believe me, but I had no true hand in his killing. What happened to him he brought on himself.’
‘I don’t know,’ Heirn said uncertainly, remembering the unseen force that had held him helpless against the wall. ‘This city’s the way it is because too many people walk away from things – refuse to accept responsibility for anything unless they see some gain in it for themselves. I…’
‘We haven’t time for this,’ Dvolci said impatiently to Atlon. ‘If this one felt you moving a horseshoe from the other side of the square, there’s no saying who felt what’s just happened.’ He turned to Heirn and motioned him towards the body. ‘Just look at him.’ His voice was powerful and commanding. ‘See what those precious crystals did to him. Ask yourself, how could Atlon possibly have done that?’ Heirn stared at him uncertainly. ‘Look at him! Lift his hood back. Look at his face, his hands.’
Frowning and reluctant, Heirn knelt down by the dead man and hesitantly lifted back his hood. The pale sunken face of an old man stared up at him. He started back, then edged away from the body, looking from Dvolci to Atlon. ‘I don’t understand. I could’ve sworn he was a young man. The way he carried himself, spoke, everything about him. This man’s withered almost… he must be incredibly old. Scarcely able to walk, I’d think, let alone strut about the way he was.’
‘Hewas young,’ Dvolci said bluntly. ‘A foolish, misguided young man who used crystals to amplify whatever skill he had with the Power. In his ignorance he went beyond where he should have gone and ignorance is often a fatal condition. Doing what he did, he changed the nature of the crystals and they took back what they had given him… and more. That’s why they’re green now. He was like a child with an assassin’s poisoned blade.’
Heirn was shaking his head. Atlon laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘This is not the time or the place to explain this. Dvolci’s right. He and I must leave immediately, there’s no saying who’ll have been drawn to this. I need your help now even more than before, but I understand your concerns. Do you want to stay, or will you help us?’
Heirn grimaced and looked from side to side, then up at the narrow strip of darkening blue sky above. The high buildings looked back impassively. ‘Say something – one word – anything that’ll help me. I’m lost in all this. Him – young, then old – crystals turning from clear into greens, you say – into a fortune – it’s not possible. And as for stealing them, leaving a dead body lying here for the dogs and the vermin, it’s…’ He fell silent.
‘There’s nothing I can tell you, here, now,’ Atlon said, taking the reins of his horse and turning it round.
‘I can,’ Dvolci said coldly. ‘Look at these.’ He opened the dead man’s robe further. Livid circular scars marred his neck where the kerchief had been.
Heirn winced. ‘Bums,’ he exclaimed softly. ‘Bad ones too.’ He leaned forward. ‘And new?’
‘Portals to the soul I’d say if I was being poetic,’ Dvolci said simply, gently closing the robe and covering the dead man’s face. ‘But choked and fouled drains would be a better description. The crystals did this to him. Quickly or slowly, they’ll do it to anyone in time. Especially these, in this state. That’s why we can’t leave them. Please help us. We came to this city because we were concerned about something in our own land – to learn, nothing more. Now it looks as though we might be back in a war we’d thought finished years ago.’ He placed a paw on Heirn’s arm. ‘This is a fearful place for us both. I can understand your confusion and doubt – you don’t know us and you do know the Kyrosdyn; we’re outsiders, they’re city people. It’s your judgement, but we’re more lost than you can possibly imagine. Help us, please. We’ll tell you what we can, but help us get to somewhere safe.’
Heirn stood up. With a final look at the dead Kyrosdyn, he said. ‘There’ll be other bodies found tonight, I suppose. There always are – every night.’ His face was pained. ‘I never thought I’d be…’ He stopped and straightened up. ‘I’ll take you home as I promised. But I must know what’s happening.’
* * * *
Heirn levered himself over on to his left side and gazed at the open window, a dim rectangle, yellow in the reflected street lights.
* * * *
All three had been silent for the rest of the short journey to Heirn’s home; Atlon and Dvolci as if they were listening for something, Heirn increasingly fretful about the wisdom of what he was doing. Scarcely had he shown them into his rooms and sat them down however, than Atlon was looking to tell his tale.
‘This will be difficult for you, Heirn. Just hear me out, that’s all I ask.’ He paused, uncertain how to begin.
‘Sixteen years ago – I’d only just become a senior Brother in our Order – we discovered that… an old enemy… had returned to the land to the north of us.’
‘Is this what you told me back at the forge?’ Heirn interrupted starkly. ‘I’m warning you, I’m in no mood for fireside tales.’
Atlon was unexpectedly grim and his face looked old in the early evening light that was percolating into the room. ‘Yes, it is,’ he said. ‘And it’s no child’s tale, Heirn. It’s a tale of a real war – one in which real battles were fought.’ He tapped his finger to his temple savagely and gritted his teeth. ‘Battles I can still see when I close my eyes at night. Bloody wounds, hacked limbs…’
Dvolci let out a low, soothing whistle.
Atlon fell silent for a moment as he recollected himself. ‘I’m sorry
,’ he said eventually. ‘That’s not your problem, is it? It’s difficult to remember that while my countrymen and our allies were fighting and dying, the rest of the world was oblivious to what was happening. And still is. Or that, to them, the enemy we faced was nothing more than an old legend.’
‘This… enemy… has a name?’ Heirn asked impatiently.
It was Dvolci who replied. ‘I think you’d call Him, Sammrael.’
Heirn frowned uncertainly then tried a scornful smile as if that might somehow dismiss all that had happened that day. ‘Sammrael is the name of the man we call the Great Lord – the legendary founder of Arash-Felloren. But heis only a legend – a tale for children. And if he’s anything, he’s no ogre but a heroic figure – a noble man done down by petty and treacherous enemies.’
Atlon’s gaze shrivelled his already waning smile.
‘Listen carefully. As I said, this isn’t going to be easy for you,’ he said slowly. Heirn opened his mouth to speak then changed his mind. Atlon went on.
‘No one knows who, or what, He truly is. It’s believed that He was one of those who came from what we call the Great Heat at the beginning of all things.’ Heirn’s brow furrowed but he stayed silent. ‘His sole intent seems always to have been to destroy the world that the others shaped. No one’s ever fathomed why this should be, but His deeds testify to it, over and over – as do most of the names He’s known by – the Great Corrupter, the Enemy of all Living Things, many others. He’s slipped into legend simply because the last time He was here was so long ago – far beyond most people’s reckoning. Even we made the mistake of thinking He’d gone for ever, and we knew He’d been as real as you or I.’
Heirn protested. ‘You can’t ask me to believe…’
Atlon raised a hand to stop him. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything except hear me out,’ he said urgently. ‘Who or what He is, how or why He came into being is, in any case, of no concern. But His reality is. That’s a matter of unbroken, documented fact. I’m loath to burden you with this but we need your help. You can walk away from us at any time, but I’m asking you not to until you’ve at least heard what we’ve got to say. And when you feel yourself slipping into unreality – when you think you’re listening to the ramblings of someone deranged – remember the horseshoes I moved and how it drew that wretched man to us. And remember the force that knocked you against that wall and held you pinned there.’
Heirn, his face set, looked away from him, but did not reply.
‘It could well be that He did found Arash-Felloren,’ Atlon went on. ‘He’d many citadels about the world and I’ve…’ He paused and took a deep, nervous breath. ‘… I’ve seen His image here once already.’ He stiffened to suppress a shiver. ‘And there’s a feel about the whole place that’s… disturbing.’ He kept his gaze fixed on Heirn. ‘The enemy we faced was this Great Lord of yours – be under no illusions. I felt the touch of His minions. When He last walked amongst us, corrupting and destroying, a Great Alliance of peoples eventually defeated His armies and, as they thought, destroyed Him, though we think now that He was only scattered – dispersed across many different worlds and times.’ His hand fluttered as if to wave away the distractions that were clamouring to be heard as justifications for his story. ‘Whatever the truth of it, some focus, some Power in His old fastness, made Him whole again.’ He could not keep the anger from his voice. ‘And our Order – nearly as ancient as He Himself, and tasked with the duty of watching for His Second Coming and gathering knowledge to protect the world should it happen – saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing. Blind, under the rocks – inward-looking…’
‘Enough!’ Dvolci stopped him. ‘That debate’s finished.’ Then, to Heirn, ‘Suffice it that His return was discovered and He was defeated again, this time before He could spread too much of His corruption out into the world.’
‘But?’ Heirn said, picking up the inflection in Dvolci’s voice.
Atlon answered him. ‘But we don’t know how long He’d been… whole. How many agents of His had gone out into the world, or how far. What harm they were still doing. And agents there’d be. That was always His way. Working silently and insidiously, like rot in the heart of an old tree, so that, one day, when the wind blows…’ He brought his hands together in a soft clap.
Heirn cleared his throat nervously, as though half-fearing that he was being made the butt of some bizarre joke. ‘I can accept that you’ve fought a war against someone,’ he said. ‘But you’re asking a lot of me to accept that it was against some mythic creature suddenly returned from the depths of time.’ He looked at his hands. ‘I’ve seen and heard some strange things, but I’m still a blacksmith – a practical man, dealing with practical matters. Men live and then they die – all of us. And they don’t come back to life. How can a man do what you’ve described? It’s not possible.’
‘I’ve no good answers for you, Heirn,’ Atlon replied. ‘He’s not a man – perhaps not even a mortal creature as we understand it. I told you, we don’t know what or why He is, but that’s the case with many things we accept. What we do know is that He’s taken human form twice now and on both occasions brought untold horror into the world – horror that long outlived His apparent destruction. Horror that was eminently practical and of this world!’ He leaned forward and spoke very quietly. ‘We can only assume that, whatever we did to Him, He will try to return yet again from wherever He is. And He’ll succeed if we don’t remain vigilant.’
There was a long silence. Heirn sat with his head bowed in thought. Atlon and Dvolci waited.
‘I don’t know what to make of any of this,’ Heirn said eventually. ‘I don’t doubt your sincerity, but what you’ve told me just makes no sense. Yet…’ He was pinned helpless against the wall again – then looking at the shrunken form of the young man made suddenly old. ‘I can’t just brush it all to one side as so much nonsense. Not after what I’ve seen – and felt.’ His distaste for this conclusion was written clearly across his face. He snatched at practicalities.
‘These agents you mentioned. Do you think they might have come here, to Arash-Felloren?’ he asked.
Atlon gave an unexpected shrug. ‘When the war was over, many people were sent out into the world. Some to track down those who’d committed crimes in His name, others to seek out those who’d simply been led astray. Still others went out just to learn more of the world which we’d so long neglected.’ He looked at Dvolci. ‘As I told you back at the forge, we came looking for the source of the crystals that had been appearing in our land.’
Heirn nodded, though the conversation they had held, sitting in front of his forge, seemed now to have happened years ago.
‘There’d been “incidents”, I think you said.’
‘Similar to what happened to the Kyrosdyn,’ Atlon confirmed. ‘Though nothing remotely as bad as that.’ Almost mimicking Heirn’s mannerism, he looked down at his hands. ‘But, because of who my countrymen are descended from, most of us unknowingly have some aptitude for using the Power. And when that’s done in certain ways and in the close proximity of certain crystals – alarming and dangerous things can happen.’
Heirn’s hand went to his neck. ‘Like those burns?’
‘It can cause those kind of injuries, but they’re only an incidental effect of what’s really happening.’
‘Which is?’
Atlon did not reply immediately. ‘I don’t know that I can begin to explain it to you, Heirn. It isn’t easy to grasp, not least because it’s far from being fully understood. Not even my teachers would pretend to understand it other than vaguely, and most of them have been studying it for longer than I’ve been riding. It’s something that seems to lie near, perhaps even at the heart of everything we think of as being our world, our existence.’ He looked around the room. ‘What we call the Power is some attribute – some quality – that pervades all things; in a way, it connects all things. These chairs, that fire grate, those pictures, those flowers – ourselves even, are…’
He sought inspiration on the ceiling. ‘Different manifestations of it – different concentrations, for want of a better expression.’
Heirn looked at him blankly, and Atlon shrugged unhappily.
‘It’s the best I can do,’ he said weakly. ‘I did say it wouldn’t be easy.’ He pressed on. ‘Put crudely, given the right circumstances, a crystal will draw the Power into itself, through the pulses, the meridians… in a way, storing it so that it can be used later. It’s a hazardous thing to do, full of strange, unexpected dangers. It’s appallingly addictive for one thing. We – my Order – use crystals like that only sparingly and not without great thought for the consequences. It seems however, that your Kyrosdyn use them quite recklessly.’ His expression became distant and he shook his head in disbelief.
‘In attacking me the way he did, that foolish young man went far beyond what I imagine he’d been taught to do. When I resisted him, he drew so savagely on the crystals at his neck that he actually changed their character.’ He brightened a little as a comparison came to him. ‘Like a piece of iron,’ he said, holding up his clenched hands as though gripping a bar. He demonstrated as he spoke. ‘If you bend it a little, it springs back. But if you bend it too much, it remains bent. It’s changed in some way.’ He lowered his hands, uncertain about his effort. The expression on his audience’s face told him nothing.