by Roger Taylor
It was good.
Ecstasy suffused her.
Then an agonizing cry of denial was all around her. She tried to oppose it, but she was as nothing against such an intent.
The darkness was rent open. Mouth and eyes gaping, Imorren burst into the light.
* * * *
Mouth and eyes gaping, Pinnatte burst into the light. For even the dull light seeping into Heirn’s room seemed bright by comparison with where he had just been. For a moment, his eyes were like black pits.
* * * *
Gasping for breath, her heart pounding and her mouth awash with saliva, Imorren sat upright and rigid. Her hands, clawed, were reaching out either to seize something or to defend herself against it. The familiar pattern of the room closed about her as her eyes focused. Teeth bared, she forced her breathing to harmonize with its undulating flow. Saliva trickled down her chin. Sucking in noisily, she leaned over and spat into a basin on a table by the bed. Snatching up a glass, she took a mouthful of water and spat again. Then, standing up unsteadily, she leaned on the table and gazed into the bowl with its streaked and frothy contents.
The movement had made her feel cold. Touching her forehead, she found that it was wet – very wet. Then her arms were cold, and her gown was clinging to her. And inside she was aching and empty. Tentatively, she turned over a small mirror and looked into it.
Bright eyes shone from a flushed and glistening face. Hair was slicked and awry. She could not recognize herself.
‘Where are you?’ she asked meaninglessly.
Every part of her body urged her to sit down on the edge of the bed and put her head into her hands, but the face in the mirror snarled at the image. Slowly and with great deliberation, she replaced the mirror, face downwards – mirrors were such wild and frightening things. Then, with equal deliberation, she straightened, turned, and walked towards a door at the far end of the room.
It was no easy task. She must bathe and compose herself completely before she saw anyone, but buffeting her, like an angry wind, was a grim knowledge that was stretching her self-discipline to its limits. Disorientated though she had been, she had recognized the creature carrying her from the dream, and she had recognized the Anointed. But something was amiss – grievously so. The consequences of the Anointing might be beyond calculation, but many of the things that they could not be, were known. And what she had felt had been one such.
All had been well when she felt his presence at the Loose Pit.
Now, there was a flaw. A flaw that jeopardized everything she had worked for and achieved.
He must be found and examined.
* * * *
‘You’re all right. You’re all right.’ Atlon wrapped his arms around the struggling Pinnatte, partly in an attempt to comfort him, partly to restrain him. Heirn, better suited to such a task, stood by and watched helplessly, stunned by the terrible cry that Pinnatte had uttered.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked weakly as Pinnatte became quieter.
Atlon looked into the still staring eyes, bracing himself for a return of the recognition that he had seen in the Jyolan. And the hatred. But there was nothing there except fear. He relaxed.
‘It was just a dream,’ he said.
‘Some dream,’ Heirn retorted disbelievingly. He lit a lamp. Its soft light pushed aside the city’s gloaming and made the room both smaller and more welcoming. ‘He’s whiter than my sheets and wringing wet.’ He went out and returned a moment later with a cloth and a towel. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gently displaced Atlon and began washing Pinnatte’s face. The young man made no response, other than to gaze about the room.
Atlon stood back, watching the scene. For a moment he felt like an intruder. It was obvious that Heirn had performed this duty many times before, and under less than happy circumstances, he suspected.
Then Pinnatte waved him aside. This too, was something that Heirn was obviously used to. Atlon looked away as the big man hesitantly stood up. Then he turned to Pinnatte.
‘Tell me what happened.’
Pinnatte hugged his hand to his body and looked back at him suspiciously.
‘Tell me what happened,’ Atlon said again, more forcefully this time.
‘Just a dream,’ Pinnatte said hurriedly. ‘You said I might have dreams. It was…’
Atlon was shaking his head. ‘It was the same as you had last night, wasn’t it? The one you’ve been fretting about, on and off, all day. The one that made you hesitate when Heirn suggested you lie down for a while.’ He leaned forward. ‘And the reason why you tried to stay awake when you did lie down.’
Pinnatte was again oscillating between trust and distrust of this strange man. How could he know so much?
‘It was just a…’
‘No!’ Atlon interrupted him. ‘No more foolishness. Something’s troubling you badly and I might be able to help you with it. But I must know what’s happened to you – about your dream – about your hand. How did you get that mark?’
It was a risk, but Atlon was glad that the question was out. Pinnatte clutched his hand closer.
Atlon pressed on. ‘I don’t know what’s happening to you, Pinnatte, but this is something you need to be free of, you must be aware of that.’
The word ‘free’ echoed in Pinnatte’s mind. But no, this stranger should be minding his own business. There was nothing wrong with his hand. The Kyrosdyn’s touch, given for whatever reason, had brought him to this point where his life was going to be better, where a future existed in which real wealth, real freedom, might lie.
And it brought the nightmares.
The thought came from nowhere and made him shudder.
‘I am free,’ he said defiantly. He flaunted his injured hand, the graze now scabbed over. ‘I can go anywhere I want, do anything I want…’ He stumbled, realizing how ridiculous such words sounded coming from a mere Den-Mate. ‘That is, I will when…’ He stumbled again then raised his voice to force his conclusion out, ‘When Barran takes me on. I’ll have the money to do everything then.’
‘Except sleep,’ Atlon said quietly into the strained silence that followed.
‘I’ll sleep well enough,’ Pinnatte retorted angrily.
Dvolci clambered on to the bed and lay across his lap. Atlon looked earnestly at Pinnatte and shook his head. The denial seemed to enrage the young man. ‘The Kyrosdyn has shown me the way,’ he burst out, but his voice trailed off and his arm came out as if to snatch back the words.
‘So itwas something the Kyrosdyn did to you, was it?’ Atlon said sympathetically. ‘I was beginning to suspect that.’
Pinnatte stammered, ‘No,’ and ‘Yes,’ a few times, ending with an uncomfortable, ‘Yes.’
No sooner had he uttered the word than a wave of guilt and dismay flooded through him. This tormentor had tricked him! The guilt became suddenly a raving anger. Something in him reached out to destroy Atlon.
He had a fleeting vision of Dvolci, teeth bared, hackles raised, leaping up, and Atlon’s hand being lifted in front of him, filling the world. Then there came a blow that seemed to strike every part of his body, and a suffocating darkness folded around him.
‘Ye gods,’ Dvolci exclaimed. He was crouching low on top of a cupboard. ‘Where did that come from? What is he?’
‘What’ve you done to him?’ Heirn burst out. It looked to him as though Atlon had struck the young man after Dvolci had suddenly leapt away. But even as he spoke he saw that Atlon was swaying. He seized his arm. ‘What’s the matter? What’s happening?’
Atlon raised a hand for a moment’s pause. ‘I’m all right – I think. But I hadn’t expected that.’
‘Expected what? Why did you hit him?’
Atlon gently prised Heirn’s grip from his arm. Bending over Pinnatte, he began to examine him thoroughly, listening first to his breathing, then testing many pulses. He looked only partially relieved when he stood up. Heirn noticed that his hands were shaking.
‘He’s all right, as well,�
� he said. ‘Which is due more to his good fortune than my skill.’ He groped backwards for a chair then sat down like an old man. ‘I didn’t hit him, Heirn,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘It was he who nearly hit me – nearly killed me – and you. I just defended myself… like I did against the Kyrosdyn yesterday.’
Heirn was about to proclaim that Pinnatte had never moved, but Atlon’s pain reached into him like a revelation. ‘You mean, he used this… Power… of yours?’ He needed no answer, even though his own protests followed immediately. ‘But he’s a street thief, not a Kyrosdyn. What would he know about such things? I’ll wager he’s never studied anything in his life except how to cut purses. And I doubt you’ll find coins on him, let alone crystals.’
But even as he was speaking, Heirn could feel Atlon’s own bewilderment and concern. It trembled through him. He motioned towards the other room. ‘If he’s all right, we can talk next door.’
Atlon shook his head. ‘I daren’t leave him. He might be quiet for the moment, but…’ He left any conclusion unspoken. ‘I need to think.’ He took hold of Pinnatte’s right hand and examined it closely. Dvolci came to the bedside and joined him, his snout twitching as he peered at the seemingly innocuous wound. His hackles were still raised and he seemed unusually energetic, as if keeping himself ready for another sudden flight. Atlon laid a hand on him.
‘I’m sorry about before,’ Dvolci said. ‘I didn’t mean to get in your way. I just didn’t see it coming fast enough.’
‘Don’t distress yourself,’ Atlon said. ‘If you hadn’t moved so quickly, I wouldn’t have seen it either. We’ll both of us have to be more careful in future. Heirn’s hospitality has made us lax. It’s as you said, we’re still on the battlefield.’
He released Pinnatte’s hand. ‘That’s the second time,’ he said. ‘First the Jyolan, now here. And both times there was virtually no warning. It was almost as though he was suddenly someone else. Someone who recognized me.’
‘More likely, recognized what you are.’
‘Would you please tell me what’s happening?’ Heirn asked into the ensuing silence. He sounded almost plaintive.
Atlon tapped his hand on his knee nervously. ‘I don’t know. That’s the problem. Something very strange has been done to this young man. Something awful. And it’s to do with that mark on his hand. I’m getting responses from it and to it which I can’t begin to understand.’ He looked at Dvolci but the felci simply shook his head. ‘He tried to attack me in the Jyolan for no apparent reason. Dvolci managed to stop him, which was fortunate, to say the least. I shudder to think what the consequences would have been if I’d had to defend myself there. But just now, he actually used it – used the Power – and as a weapon.’ He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and Heirn was horrified to see true despair in his eyes. ‘In the name of pity, Dvolci, what have we got here?’
‘An abomination.’ The felci’s reply was harsh.
‘An ordinary young man,’ Atlon said.
‘He might have been ordinary once, but he isn’t now,’ Dvolci said, jumping on to the bed. He peered intently at the sleeping Pinnatte. ‘Though he seems harmless enough now. It makes no sense.’
‘But how long will he stay harmless?’
Dvolci did not reply.
Atlon straightened up and pushed himself back in his chair. He looked at Heirn. ‘You were right before, of course. Someone like this shouldn’t be able to use the Power. Even people who have a natural aptitude for it can’t normally use it in any significant way – certainly not like this one just did. Long and careful training is needed to turn aptitude into ability. And great personal dedication.’
Heirn, lost, snatched at ideas. ‘He says he’s a Den-Mate, and he acts like one, but perhaps he’s lying. Perhaps he’s a Kyrosdyn novice, pretending to be a thief, for some reason.’ The conclusion rang false to him even as he was speaking it. His every Arash-Felloren instinct told him that Pinnatte was what he said he was.
Atlon was shaking his head. ‘He hadn’t a vestige of control, Heirn. He was like a leaking bucket.’ He closed his eyes and laid his hands on Pinnatte again. ‘And now there’s not a vestige of Power within him, other than… something… from his hand.’
‘You can tell that?’ Heirn asked. ‘Just by…’ He ended with a vague shrug.
‘Oh, yes. And so can anyone else who knows how. That’s why I wanted to keep away from that Kyrosdyn, and why the Jyolan frightened me so much.’
Heirn was determined to help. ‘Has he any crystals on him? You haven’t looked.’
‘He wasn’t using crystals.’ Atlon was categorical. ‘It was a natural use. Uncontrolled, but unaided.’ He glanced up at Heirn and reproached himself. ‘You’re taking all this very well.’
‘I don’t seem to have a choice.’ The immediate and somewhat acid response reassured Atlon. ‘Things are happening in front of my eyes, and while I can’t understand most of them – any of them! – I can’t deny them, can I?’
Self-reproach filled Atlon’s face. ‘We’re fortunate indeed to have met you, Heirn. And I’m sorry for burdening you like this, if I haven’t apologized already.’
Heirn dismissed the remark. ‘It’s only a burden if I choose to make it one,’ he said. ‘But knowledge would help me without a doubt.’
‘And me,’ Atlon said ruefully, turning back to Pinnatte again. ‘It’s not possible, you see. The way he uses the power can’t be achieved without a certain kind of control – a structure, a shape, if you like. And he has none. It’s…’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘It’s as though he’s climbing a ladder with no rungs, or… melting iron without heat. It’s impossible. It justcan’t be.’ Angry frustration ripped into his voice. He struck his palm with his fist as if the violence would resolve the paradox.
‘But it is?’
Atlon let out a loud, grating breath, which was almost a snarl. ‘Yes – it is.’
‘Which leaves us where?’
Atlon looked at him helplessly. ‘Which leaves us with Pinnatte,’ he said after a long pause.
Heirn too, took some time before he spoke again. He searched Atlon’s face. ‘Perhaps you should just walk away from him.’
It needed no great perception to see that Atlon was sorely tempted by the suggestion. Dvolci watched the two men.
‘I’d like nothing better,’ Atlon said eventually. ‘But I can’t. I’ll walk away from you any time you tell me to, but I can’t walk away from this young man. I wish I could. I don’t know what I expected to find when I set out on this journey, but it was nothing like this nightmare. But having found it, I’ve no choice other than to find out more about it. Something terrible’s happening here.’ He pointed at Pinnatte. ‘And he’s near the heart of it, I’m sure. He’s admitted that the Kyrosdyn are involved – that they’ve done something to him.’ He fell silent, his face distressed. When he spoke again, he echoed his last phrase slowly, as if hasty speech might scatter the pieces of a delicately balanced puzzle. ‘They’ve done something to him… and it’s gone wrong. That must be it.He’s an accident.’
He stood up. ‘What could they have been trying to do? And why?’ He tapped a finger towards Pinnatte. ‘Nothing for his benefit, for sure. And it wasn’t this – not what he’s turned into. Nothing could be gained by making someone able to use the Power as he does without the discipline that’s intrinsic to it. Nothing. It’s like loosing a stampede into a crowded square. Like making a weapon which is as likely to kill its user as his enemy. Perhaps even more so.’ He nodded, satisfied with this conclusion, but little wiser. ‘Yes. They’ve tried some obscene experiment on him, and it’s gone wrong. It’s not remotely conceivable that he was ever meant to be like this.’
He took Pinnatte’s hand again. ‘Probably this open cut and Ellyn’s drawing ointment have conspired to play havoc with their scheme. Incredible.’
Heirn frowned at his tone. ‘You sound almost regretful,’ he said.
Atlon looked a little guilty. ‘No, not really,�
�� he replied. ‘Not at all, actually. But…’ He seemed reluctant to voice what he was thinking for fear it might give the lie to this denial. ‘To do something like this deliberately would be a staggering achievement.’ He shook his head, an admiring academic, despite himself. ‘There’s knowledge here that would have even the most sedate of my elderly brethren skipping like children. Knowledge that reaches into the profoundest depths of what we think of as our world, our reality. But it’s also an obscenity. An appalling and dangerous obscenity, with profound consequences for us here, now. Perhaps even for the whole city. They’ve been meddling near the heart of a region where infinite possibilities jostle incessantly, dabbling with a swirling dynamic equilibrium which is beyond any understanding. Even to approach it they must have known the risks they were running. And it’s gone wrong. It’s unforgivable.’ Anger lit his face briefly, then faded. ‘So, being honest, yes, perhaps part of me is regretful – but it’s a very tiny part. Mainly I’m frightened and sickened. Though if it weren’t so tragic and so dangerous, I’d also be darkly amused that Ellyn’s simple ointment has so disturbed such a sophisticated venture.’
Heirn could offer nothing against this confession. As ever, he clung to the practical. ‘What are we going to do with him, then?’
Atlon had begun to pace up and down. He stopped. ‘Ideally, what I’d like to do is take him back with me so that my Elders could find out what’s happened to him and help him.’
‘No chance of that,’ Heirn said conclusively. ‘He’s a bonded Den-Mate for one thing, and, you heard him, he’s got aspirations to further himself as a result of his escapade last night – with Barran, no less. From the melting pot into the forge as far as I can see, but that’s what he wants. He’s a young man who could use some guidance, without a doubt, but there’s nothing you can do about that – the city’s full of the likes of him. I’ll tell you this – even your horse would be hard-pressed to drag him away from the city and what he imagines to be his future prospects.’