The Gigantes were all too aware of her desperate state of mind, telling her that if there was any sign of Zodarin on the other side, then they would abort the mission.
“Very well,” Tayem sighed. “Let’s get on with it.”
“Watch carefully, father,” Milissandia instructed Wobas. “You will need to administer these unctions to the Queen when we have completed our sortie.”
“So many unknowns,” he said.
Milissandia proceeded to apply a thin layer of anduleso paste to her wrist. “This site provides maximum absorption for minimum application,” she said. Following this, she swallowed a small sample of the yellow mushroom, and before long had drifted into a trance. Wobas crossed his legs, closed his eyes and was transported straight away.
“So — we wait,” Tayem said to Cistre.
Her bodyguard appeared particularly tense, and Tayem wondered what perturbed her so. The woman had served the Queen since her accession to the throne, and no doubt felt extreme loyalty and attachment to her. Perhaps it was the fact she was an orphan. Her father had accepted her into the royal household without hesitation, and apart from Mahren she had spent more hours with her than any other Dragonian. They had reached maturity together, fought side by side against the enemy, and ridden the skies in tandem. Yes, she could not hope for a better guard. Perhaps she was more than that, however.
“Why so anxious?” Tayem said to her. “This is for the best. These Gigantes hold the only hope for my release.”
“But if something befalls you in the Dreamworld?” Cistre said with palpable emotion. “What will I … what will we do?”
Tayem took both her bodyguard’s hands. “If I cannot be released from the Hallows domination, then a far worse burden will remain. The Donnephon cannot have a queen possessed with the same evil as Etezora. Its strength grows, and with it a madness I cannot control.”
Cistre looked at her Queen, a puzzled expression appearing on her face.
“What are you saying?”
“Cistre, if this does not work. I may need you to fulfil the utmost of your duty.”
“You mean … no I could not do that. My loyalty is to you, my Queen.”
“Your loyalty is actually to Dragonia and to the Donnephon. They must take precedence over any monarch.”
“Please do not ask this of me. I — ”
“It is your duty,” Tayem said, holding her hands more tightly. “Say you will not falter. Mahren cannot do this, it is forbidden for Royal Family to perform the kutri.”
“No, I will not — ”
“Promise me!”
It was too much for Cistre, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Yet she did not get the opportunity to swear the oath because at that moment, Wobas’s eyes opened.
“The realm appears safe,” he said. “Now quickly, let me apply the unction. Milissandia waits for us on the other side.”
Wobas carried out the application swiftly, and then invited Tayem to sit cross-legged in front of him. “You must relax totally. Here, swallow the mushroom.”
Tayem took the fungus and bit into it. It tasted spicy and not altogether unpleasant. She closed her eyes and did her best to relax every muscle and allow her mind to clear. The Hallows protested at this orchestration, but Tayem was rested, and quashed its impertinence. After only a few seconds, she found her thoughts were not her own, and an ethereal apparition came to her, fluttering closer like a feathered ghost.
The night bird, for that is what it was, flapped over her head and spoke to her. Follow me, it said, we may not have much time.
Tayem looked down at her body, wondering if it had changed too, but it was her own. The wurunwa ith flitted between the branches of the overhead trees, but always remained in sight. Tayem followed, her steps damped by leaf litter, the sensation in her soles almost non-existent. This is like floating, she thought. The surrounding trees were similar to garpines, yet did not have the spiky offshoots she normally associated with the species. Her field of vision extended only a few strides as a frosted mist billowed all around. This is like the Dastarthes that surrounds Herethorn, she mused. Wobas has produced a recreation of the Dreamworld environment around the sanctuary.
Time slipped away, and she wondered if anything was amiss. Wobas, she sent. Where is Milissandia?
Where the trees border on a meadow. Up ahead, the scops replied in thought-speak. But beware using our names. These utterances echo across the Far Beyond and others may hear our conversation above the dream static.
Tayem submitted to the nightbird’s admonishment and continued forward into the trees.
~ ~ ~
Zodarin dropped the flask he was holding. It contained his latest attempt at an elixir to combat the dragon blight, yet he deduced its contents were impotent. It shattered on the stone floor of his chamber, but he did not care.
The shaman has returned to the Dreamworld!
The means by which he knew this were beyond him, yet he heard the wurunwa ith’s name mentioned by another, an alien signature he could not identify.
I must investigate. But what if I find them? Do I offer Wobas a partnership once again? And if he refuses — do I have the strength or will to overcome him?
These were unanswerable questions, but he was resolved to act. He couldn’t let this opportunity pass him by. Time was running out.
~ ~ ~
The tree line appeared ahead, backdropped against a lighter glow. Tayem noted the arbour had changed in composition to a deciduous mix made up from swampland trees. As she stepped forward cautiously, the scops came to rest on a thick, moss-covered branch next to an iridescent tree-serpent.
I see you, she sent, remembering Wobas’s instruction not to invoke names. What happens now?
The dream creatures looked at each other, then the serpent scurried in front of the bird and coiled itself up. The bird spread its wings in what appeared to be an arcane posture.
Step closer and raise your arms, the night bird sent. You need do nothing except open yourself. The power of wurunwa is strong here and it will be upon us to effect the ritual. But do not think your task can be accomplished without a great application of will. The malignancy within is unlikely to relinquish its grasp easily, and you must resist its every overture.
The scops’ words were true. Already, Tayem could feel it stirring in her belly. Please start, she sent, it knows that something is afoot.
Without further word, the wurunwa ith opened its beak and uttered a low, sweet train of sound while the anduleso swayed its head from side to side with the rhythm.
~ ~ ~
Zodarin was levethix di wurunwi, wizard of dreams, existing in his human form. He had dispensed with the calti embodiment — Wobas would not entertain the one that had impersonated the Augur. He had also shunned the wolvern’s body — too fearsome, and as for the harroc di wurunwi — that would not be conducive at all. He ran across the meadow towards the tree line, following the sound of the invocations, knowing they signaled a healing process. But what? He needed to know. Then he would deal with the shaman and his new confederate.
~ ~ ~
It has its hooks in me, Tayem sent.
They are not hooks, the anduleso said, simply excuses you make to yourself. Let them go!
Tayem tried, or at least she thought she did. She saw the hooks in her mind’s eye, and the thing they were attached to. It was beyond abhorrent, beyond description and her mind recoiled in horror.
The scops did not contribute to their conversation, and Tayem surmised Wobas’s energies were taken up effecting the ritual.
Look at the hooks in a different way, the anduleso sent. Not as a device of the Hallows, but a construct of your own making.
Tayem regarded the image, so real it encompassed everything she saw; yet she had the power to change it. But what did she hold as most precious? Was it something she should have relinquished long ago? Maybe …
She exerted her will and replaced the hooks with an image of the carved dragon figu
rine her father had carved for her. Seeing it appear as this powerful image, she felt a longing for him and for all she had lost. No, I cannot let it go.
You must, the anduleso sent, and you must do it quickly. The Harroc di wurunwi comes.
Tayem focused on the figurine. She held on to one wing, while the malignancy held the other. She knew what to do — but it was so hard.
Too late, the anduleso sent. Disaster is upon us.
~ ~ ~
Zodarin climbed the hill toward the treeline. They were close, but his lungs burned with the exertion.
Even here the blight afflicts me, he moaned.
Now that he was close, his dream sense identified the three entities: Wobas, his daughter and … could this be … Tayem Fyreglance, Queen of the Donnephon?
He had come intent on a last negotiation, but with this discovery, he knew he had no choice. To gain Etezora’s trust back he must strike down the Cuscosian’s enemy. The blight contradicted him, showing an image of Tayem as a youngster, playing with Etezora — a time of innocence, a time of relative peace.
No time for conscience. I must call upon my greatest strength.
And just as Tayem was battling a reluctance to let go mere strides ahead of him, Zodarin did what came easy — he released the harroc di wurunwi. Tentacles replaced arms, eyes multiplied across his skin, and his form expanded two-fold.
With renewed vigour he surged up the hill.
Then another appeared, drifting in from the mists. One he had met only once before and had existed for even longer than he.
Stay your hand, Harroc di wurunwi, it said. Think of the consequences.
You are Memek-Tal, Zodarin said. Stand aside, you have no power over me.
You are correct, Zodarin, amioid of ancient times.
You know who I am?
That is my strength — knowledge. Would you not wish to know the nature of that which afflicts you? Discover how to rid yourself of the torment?
You would give me this knowledge?
It comes at a price, the Spirit Guide sent, turning its bird head to indicate the three figures engrossed in the ritual behind him.
Anything — tell me!
Promise you will not harm them.
Zodarin, the harroc di wurunwi, contemplated the Spirit Guide’s words. How can I trust you?
I am bound to tell the truth.
Zodarin held centuries of magical lore and history, yet he had no way of knowing this entity’s nature. However, he did know that spirit guides spoke in riddles. If it gave him what he needed, would he be able to interpret it?
What to do?
~ ~ ~
The harroc di wurunwi holds off its attack, the scops sent, breaking off its invocation. I have completed my part, Tayem. It is now up to you. Do you truly want to expel this thing?
Tayem’s mind was a storm. She had let in what she thought was the means of her people’s salvation, tasted the fruits of its possession. These were gifts of immense gravity. Then she saw the death throes of her dragons, her railing against those close to her, the loss of Darer, and the slaughter she had dealt. Was this what she wanted?
No!
She let go of the dragon figurine’s wing and its image recoiled into the dark violet mass that was the Hallows. Straight away she felt the uprooting of something deep-seated, something akin to a dark foetus within. It rose through her throat, its passage causing immeasurable pain, yet she could not cry out.
I will surely die.
Hold on, the anduleso sent, its voice indistinct, distant; and just as she thought her soul would be ripped from her body, the Hallows was expelled and Tayem breathed in the fresh soul energy of the Dreamworld.
It is done, the scops sent, its dream tone a mixture of triumph and panic. We must away. Run.
Tayem reached for the anduleso, picked it up and willed her feet forward. Once more, time elapsed with no sense of its pace. Would she make it to the border of the Near To? She looked over her shoulder. Nothing followed. Why did the harroc di wurunwi stop?
There was no time for conjecture. She swept after the scops, following its ghostly form through the trees, until at last they reached the point of transition. She did not hesitate but plunged forward, feeling the weirdness and exhilaration of transition.
Then she was in her body once more, and Cistre was shaking her. “Tayem, speak to me,” she cried.
The Queen opened her eyes, saw the concerned expressions on Wobas’s and Cistre’s faces and beamed a smile born of release. “Why, Cistre? What has overcome you that you should use my first name?”
Cistre blushed. “Forgive me, My Queen. You were screaming. I thought — ”
“It is done,” Tayem said. “Now unhand me. We have much to do.”
~ ~ ~
You tricked me! Zodarin sent.
I did not, the Spirit Guide replied. You simply took your time deciding.
You caused me to miss my opportunity, and now they are gone. Do you think I will spare you for this?
The Spirit Guide laughed. Not a mocking sound, but an expression of mirth that one makes when a child throws a tantrum. Can a man destroy the wind?
Zodarin lunged with four tentacles, yet they closed around nothing.
You are testing my patience, the Spirit Guide said. Don’t you want to hear what I have to say?
I was not able to fulfil my part of the bargain, Zodarin sent, and shrank back to his human form. He couldn’t stand the thought that his amioid avatar should be on the receiving end of this humiliation.
No — except by default. Yet I would impart some wisdom to you. The blight spreads and, although magical means might yield a cure, you will not find one in time.
That is your wisdom — to gloat over my doom?
There is another way. Return to your origins, you have a final transition you can make.
What transition do you speak of? I have many forms. Which one should I adopt?
The Spirit Guide lifted its head, as if responding to a call only it could hear. I have already crossed lines that have dire consequences for me, it said. I too will pay a price for this degree of intervention today.
With that, it turned on its hooves and broke into a gallop.
No, come back, Zodarin cried, you must give me more.
But the Spirit Guide was gone, and Zodarin did not have the strength to pursue. The affront he had endured caused the Hallows to stir within. It joined with his anger to produce a raging hot spout of fury.
Very well, he said to the unresponsive mists, if you are simply going to hold out hope of salvation and cruelly withdraw it, then I will resort to what I know best. Wobas and his daughter will die, the Dragonians will be destroyed and I will reign over all.
And the Black Hallows having lost one of its hosts responded within, infiltrating his cells to their deepest level. Zodarin felt the blight retreat, slowed down in its contagion. Not gone, but delayed long enough to see the harroc di wurunwi wreak its revenge.
42
Sojourn in the sanctuary
Cistre released the retaining strap on Muthorus’s saddle and passed it to Sheldar who took it dutifully.
“It really needs a complete oiling,” she said, “it’s starting to crack in places and I think it’s chafing Muthorus’s back.”
“I’ll see to it,” Sheldar replied, his expression serious and pragmatic. She hadn’t seen his jovial side for many a week now, which was small wonder, considering the trials that had beset them all. Still, she missed the childish banter and even his inept romantic passes.
“There isn’t any ground nut oil. What will you use?”
“The Gigantes have a shop that sells basic tack and goods. I believe they use an extract from the mallowpurse plant.”
“Will it do? If it should irritate the dragon’s scales …”
Sheldar smiled. “It’ll take a lot more than saddle oil to penetrate a dragon’s armour. I’m sure it won’t cause a problem.”
“Thank you,” she said. “How are
the other dragons faring?”
Sheldar shrugged. “As far as I can tell they are adapting to this climate well, and they seem to like their new pens. These Cyclopes are speedy builders and their skill at joinery rivals our own. In these few short weeks they have built a draconest that gives substantial accommodation for our remaining squadrons. Mahren is concerned, though.”
“She is?” The mention of Mahren’s name didn’t raise the same irritation it once did. Since the exodus from Wyverneth, the ordeal of survival had broken down barriers throughout the surviving population. Traditional distinctions between royalty and lower classes had all but dissolved as the Dragonians had sought to pull together in the aftermath of the plains battle. This dissolution had touched Mahren and Cistre’s relationship as they adopted clearer roles.
“She says they are flighty and restless,” Sheldar continued. “They still mourn their family’s loss.”
Cistre nodded, feeling a familiar bitterness towards the Cuscosians cloud her mind again. “It is to be expected. Their slaying is not something any of us will forget, although avenging it will help salve the mental wounds.” As she said the words, she became aware of her fists clenched so tight her nails drew blood from the palms.
“I hope that is true,” Sheldar said, taking up a pitchfork to transfer some loose switchgrass-straw to Muthorus’s bed. “It vexes me, seeing this Brethis and his dissidents mingling with our people, though. Why does Tayem tolerate their presence?”
“They are cast out of their homeland as we are, Sheldar. And Tayem knows if we are to defeat the Cuscosians, then we will need to forge a strong alliance.”
Cradle of Darkness Page 36