“Krut,” she exclaimed. She hadn’t noticed the thorn-infested vine of the wild cucumber plant. The acidic venom was already causing her hand to swell, and she rifled through her bag for an ointment, only to realise she hadn’t brought it with her. The pain crescendoed from a sting to a nagging, aching throb. If she didn’t get treatment within minutes, the venom would spread up her arm and then to her heart.
Panic began to grip her when she remembered the jar of anduleso mucus. She fumbled the lid open and took one of the saturated catkins, rubbing it on the back of hand.
“Ahhh!” The druid sighed with relief as the pain subsided, and without thinking, bit into a slice of the golden-yellow tree fungus she had prepared for her meal.
Waves of sleep started to submerge her as she leaned back against the tree again. Through bleary eyes she noticed the fungus change colour after reacting with the serpent mucus on her finger tips.
“Am I dreaming?” she murmured as she transcended through the kaleidoscope of colours pulsating in her mind. “What is this wonderment?” she asked the small skjall anduleso that crawled into her lap.
Although sleep enveloped her physical form, Milissandia was wide awake in another world. A world of vapours, mysterious scents and the suggestion of distant melodies played on spectral instruments. Remembrance flooded back as she recognised the atmosphere of the previous night’s dreams.
She looked down at her feet and saw they were three-toed, lined underneath with sticky pads. It was the most natural of behaviours to climb the stem of a nearby chasquite bush. From the sanctuary of its prickly branches and dense leaves, Milissandia’s dream-avatar blinked and regarded her wondrous surroundings. And it was as she became lost in the magnificence of the vista that she became aware of a figure materialising from the misty glade; part horse, part reptile, part bird.
The creature stepped forward on gently placed hooves and Milissandia didn’t know if she should run or hide. It had seen her and approached as if curious of her presence. It seemed to sense her trepidation and lowered itself to the leaf litter, turning to preen its fur with an amber beak.
You have come to me at last, Little One, it sent. The voice sounded sonorous in her mind, and at the same time like falling water. Don’t be afraid, I have been waiting for you to find your way.
Milissandia cocked her head and looked quizzically at the Spirit Guide.
I am not sure I know what is happening, she sent finally.
Destiny beckons my child, the Spirit Guide replied. You have been drawn here to satisfy your inner craving.
It is true that I long for answers to my questions, but how do you know…?
Tell me your yearnings. Words that escaped you in the Near To have found their wings here in the Far Beyond. Now you must express them in dream-speak.
Milissandia feared exposing her thoughts to this unknown entity, but she feared not-knowing more.
After a moment’s hesitation she said, I am worried about my father, and that I have been neglectful of my daughterly duties.
I sense sincerity in your words, but you have succumbed to your physical cravings, seeking to submerge your hurts in the waters of sensuousness. It is time to recognise the futility of this. Darkness has fallen over both your world and mine. I rejoice that you have taken the first step of your mystical ascension. It could not have come too soon.
The Spirit Guide’s words penetrated her defences like purifying salve applied to a festering wound; and though she tried to deny the release, she couldn’t help revealing herself to this wise creature.
My father came asking for help and his words fell on deaf ears in our world; but now the feelings of guilt have opened my mind, cried Milissandia, her voice racked with deep sobs of anguish.
I have watched from afar as you rose above your earthly desires, the Spirit Guide sent, and I have guided your entry into this world.
But why?
To enlighten and educate. You are the future, my child. You must now focus on your dreams and make reparations. The very future of your people depends on it.
I’m not sure my father will listen to me now.
The creature rose to its feet slowly and ambled to the chasquite bush, fixing her with eyes deeper than the fissures of the earth.
He will listen to you. His love knows no bounds. Do not desert him in his hour of need for he has a great weight to shoulder. Only by combining your youth and vigour with his experience will you both prevail.
I’m not sure I fully understand.
You will know when the time comes my child. Now go, reflect and rest. Yet whatever happens — tir ti rinov wurunwa di loreatis.
Although she had never learned the language, she understood the meaning: Don’t Ever Dream Of Dying.
What are you saying — ?
But the Spirit Guide had already turned and walked as if he glided over the mist-covered floor of the glade.
Then, quicker than she could react, she found herself back in the Near To. She roused herself, pushing up from the bole of the tree, dislodging a wide-eyed, iridescent green anduleso as she did so.
She smiled at it and said, “Thank you.” The creature let her stroke it under the chin and listened as she declared her gratitude with a solemness that fell from her lips like a creed. “You and I have created a wonderful serendipity. I know where my path leads now.”
30
Benevolent malevolence
Zodarin didn’t know what was more wearying; the drain of energy because of his exertions in the Dreamworld, or Tratis’s incessant whining at his perceived woes.
“My sister leaves without even consulting me,” he said, pacing up and down his chamber. “I only found out her intentions from the Captain of the Guard. Me — the heir designate. This is unacceptable, Zodarin.”
The prince had roused the wizard from a slumber as deep as death, and through a brain fogged by the greatest fatigue he had ever known, Zodarin was trying to grasp his complaint.
“So, you say she left for the north?” he said.
“Yes,” Tratis replied. “Chasing after the Dragonians. She treated me as a servile messenger, saying ‘Rouse the wizard.’ Tell him he must finish the work he started in the Dreamworld.”
“Finish? What was she referring to?” The question was not posed to gain clarity, simply to ascertain the extent of the seventeen-sol old’s knowledge.
“I don’t know,” stormed the prince. “She said you would understand what she meant. But she repeated the instruction, saying it was of the utmost importance.”
No doubt, Zodarin thought. It would be embarrassing to say the least if she was squashed under the feet of Tayem’s dragons.
“Thank you for delivering the message,” he said at last.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“I have other matters to attend to,” Zodarin replied, massaging his temple. Not least of which — ridding me of this accursed headache. “Have no fear, Your Majesty. Etezora must hold you in high esteem if she has entrusted the running of Wyverneth to you in her absence.” He impressed the words with his customary mesmerism, but even this effort seemed to weary him.
“Well, I suppose so,” Tratis considered for a moment, “But where do I start? I’m supposed to oversee the repairs of the city walls, secure our food supply and arrange the burial of our dead. Does she think I’m a royal undertaker?”
Zodarin groaned, eager to take to his bed again.
“And what of the two Fyreclave? Should I imprison or execute them? I can’t think what use they will be.”
“Fyreclave … who?”
“I forget their names — Dysentry and Murderbroth … or something like that.”
Zodarin’s mind became more clearly focused at this news. “Two of the Donnephon were taken alive?”
“You know Etezora doesn’t like you using that word — says it gives them too much dignity.”
“Yes … but tell me. Where are they held?”
“In the Barbican. The woman isn’t t
oo well. You should see what Etezora’s done to her eyes.”
Zodarin stretched a crick out of his neck. “I can only imagine. Well, let me see to them. No doubt they can yield information that will help you carry out your … important undertakings.”
The wizard gave Tratis a series of suggestions for his priorities, including sampling of the Dragonian wine cellars. “It’s important that Etezora returns to a celebration worthy of her endeavours,” he said. “Separate off the finest vintages and leave the rest for the officers.” That should keep him busy for an afternoon.
After taking his leave, Zodarin made his way to the Barbican. He steadied himself twice as he walked, frustrated at not being able to fully shake off his lethargy. As he leaned against an ornate ironwood post, he noticed the back of his hand. The skin was raised in tiny blackened flakes that itched. He scratched the lesion then dismissed the distraction, willing his feet forward.
A single guard watched Disconsolin’s quarters, and he admitted Zodarin without question. The wizard found Disconsolin bending over the form of his wife, bathing her eyes with a cotton cloth soaked in some kind of salve. She was lying on a large double bed.
Not such bad treatment for prisoners of war, Zodarin thought.
So preoccupied was Disconsolin that he didn’t hear the wizard’s entrance and jumped when Zodarin greeted him.
“Forgive me for startling you,” the sorcerer began.
“Ah — mighty Zodarin,” Disconsolin interrupted. “Help her, please help my wife.” He approached the wizard, pulling at his arm. “If it’s in your power to do something, then act.”
Zodarin nodded and cast his eyes over Merdreth, who he recognised from the days when Cuscosia and Dragonia shared a table at the Shaptari feasts. The woman lay motionless, the remains of her eyes still lying on her cheeks like lumps of half-digested gristle. Such a sight would not have fazed him in the past, but inexplicably, he felt suddenly sick to his stomach, disgusted at what Etezora had done.
What was this — compassion? What a strange feeling, he thought. Is this a consequence of my experience in the Dreamworld?
He suppressed the emotion, concentrating on what he could exact from the situation. These two could be useful to him, yet how typical of Etezora to vent her depredations on them.
Again, his vision blurred, and vague images flashed through his mind: a seething wriggling mass of rapidly expiring life, tortuous anguish, and excruciating pain. The import of these images echoed from beyond the centuries, yet every time he tried to grasp them with the hand of mental enquiry, his fingers closed on ghosts.
He coughed and cleared his throat. “Ask the guard to accompany you and fetch a bowl of warm dragon-balm,” he instructed Disconsolin. “I take it you have some in the palace?”
“Yes, yes. We have.”
“At once.”
Disconsolin didn’t need telling again and pulled himself away from his wife’s side.
In the meantime, Zodarin put his lips close to the unconscious Merdreth’s ear. “Hear me Councillor, I will try to right this wrong but you must help me. I see you sleep, but try to dream that your vision has returned and believe nothing less.”
By the time Disconsolin returned, Merdreth’s breath came evenly and her expression seemed more relaxed. Disconsolin placed a pitcher of dragon balm and towels on the bedside table, after which Zodarin motioned for Disconsolin to leave the room. “I need to be alone,” he said, and the statesman seemed to accept this, despite his trepidation.
Zodarin picked up the pitcher and soaked his hands in the sterilising dragon balm. Then, taking each eyeball in turn, he reset them in the gaping eye sockets. Following this, he soaked a piece of towelling in the balm, and wiped residual blood from the elderly woman’s face. He then reached into his waist pouch and removed a piece of mouldy shrivelled fungus, placing it across her eyes. Using all the energy he could muster, the wizard entered the Dreamworld once more. Although he felt a tug on his energy reserves, he did not succumb, and instead experienced an augmentation from the resurgent Hallows within.
The wolf stood looking down on the body of an old woman, her eyes open wide. She reached up to embrace the animal’s neck, and he accepted the show of gratitude, taken aback by the turn of events. A wave of weariness broke upon him again, and he slumped down next to the old woman. Although it was at odds with his assumed nature, he found himself gently licking her face, and as she accepted his attentions a contrary stirring occurred in his breast. This feeling is so strange. It seems to suppress the dark energy within. Should I be yielding to it?
It was almost dark when Zodarin awoke, lying on a soft cushion in the prisoner’s room. Disconsolin approached at the sound of the wizard coughing, a look of concern on his face. “Thank Sesnath, the guard thought I had somehow subdued you, rendered you unconscious.
Zodarin was disoriented. “How long have I been asleep?”
“A few hours, Lord Zodarin. I entered the room again as I received no answer when I called. You had fallen to the floor and Merdreth slept.”
“You did well to convince the guard.”
“He surmised I wasn’t responsible for your state — I was with him all the time in the hallway, and Merdreth was in no fit condition to overcome you.”
“How is she?” Zodarin asked, rising and flexing his arms and legs.
“I have seen what you did to her eyes. She woke up for a time and spoke of mysterious images, recollections of another life she doesn’t understand. Yet she sees — and for that we are forever in your debt.”
“She should forget what she may have seen,” the wizard said, “or she will be forever haunted.”
There was a period of silence before Disconsolin spoke again. “What will you do? The Cuscosian party has left for the mountains following my divulging of Queen Tayem’s destination.” He finished this sentence hanging his head. The shame was clearly more than he could bear.
“I will return to Castle Cuscosa to consult with Eétor, but I fear I may be too weak for the journey south.”
“Surely you will travel by horseback with an accompanying guard?”
Zodarin questioned why he was confiding in this man. He didn’t need to explain himself to anyone. Yet here he was, trusting in Disconsolin’s loyalty. “I don’t want Tratis to hear of my departure. He would not sanction my journey given the work that needs to be done here.”
“I can provide you with food and means of transport,” Disconsolin said, eagerness lighting his eyes. “There remains a single pygmy darastrix in the pens that you can ride, but it will still take a day just to get beyond the Vale to the lowlands — and it is almost night.”
“Fly by dragon? The beast will not allow it.”
“Pygmy dragons are very docile, and they cannot fly. Even I have ridden one in the past. I am too old now, of course, but it would make for a swift and comfortable transit. Far less wearisome than on horseback.”
Zodarin considered this while scratching the back of his hand. Disconsolin noticed the action, and then widened his eyes.
“Your hand,” the councillor said, “when did you contract the dragon blight?”
Zodarin took a step backwards, distancing himself. “Dragon … blight?” he said. “That is what you call this affliction?”
“Yes, it is highly contagious. The quarantined dragon that the troll slew was infected, but you have not been exposed to it, so how — ?”
Zodarin swallowed, remembering the final dragon he approached in the Dreamworld. “I do not know,” he retorted. “But what is the remedy?”
It was Disconsolin’s turn to look worried. “Lord Zodarin. There … there is no cure.”
“No cure? That cannot be. Tell me I am not doomed to scrape my skin for the rest of my life.”
“It is worse than that.” Disconsolin raised his fingers to his lips, unwilling to offend the wizard even more.
“Well man? Tell me your prognosis.”
Disconsolin sighed and then continued. “I’m afraid
the lesions will spread. This can be slowed by application of grevalin unction, but eventually the skin will scale further and blacken before degradation results in blisters and exploding boils. Your organs will finally break down. It is not a pleasant way to die.”
Zodarin reeled at the news. He saw no guile in the man and had to accept he was telling the truth. I will not allow this to happen, he resolved. Yet how can I find a remedy? He realised Disconsolin was seeing him at his weakest. Such a situation would have normally warranted the man’s immediate ‘disappearance,’ yet it would serve no purpose here. The man could be of much use to him, given his loyalty — and Etezora’s willingness to keep him alive for now. There were others back at Cuscosa, however, who did demand his attention, who were also aware of his vulnerabilities, and could exploit them. This attack on the Dragon Riders had become more than an irritating distraction — it had possibly signed his death warrant!
“It is perhaps just as well I am taking my leave alone, then,” Zodarin said. He looked over at the reposed form of Merdreth. “It will be a cruel blow if, in saving her sight I have transmitted a far greater curse.”
Disconsolin nodded. “It cannot be helped. In any case I will know if she has been stricken within twenty-four hours.”
“It is incredibly fast acting, isn’t it? You say you have some unction to arrest its spread?”
“Yes,” Disconsolin said. “In my former quarters. I can get it if I have leave to.”
“I will accompany you. Then you must help me saddle up this dragon.” He paused for a moment. “You realise I am probably dooming the dragon too.”
Disconsolin bowed his head again. “Giving it to serve your needs is not the greatest neglect I have committed these last days.”
The wizard nodded, his concession at gratitude. “Come then, I would leave straight away.”
Cradle of Darkness Page 25