The Pearl of the Soul of the World

by Pierce, Meredith Ann

  "Odds and blast," he muttered.

  Brandl gave Maruha both picks and, gripping the other set of handholds, he added his strength to the older duarough's. They strained again. This time the metal groaned and gradually gave. Slowly, the cover rotated. It screwed out of the ceiling, shrieking, and fell open with a clang. A brief grin lit Collum's face.

  Brandl laughed. Panting, the bearded duarough dusted his hands off on his breeches. The high-pitched baying down the corridor behind them echoed in the close confines of the tunnel. Approaching footsteps boomed. Collum and Brandl hastily pulled Maruha to her feet.

  Silently, the girl moved past them and climbed upward through the hatch. As she emerged, she heard Brandl following. Collum quickly boosted Maruha through, then came himself. A moment later, he pulled the hatch to, and the sound of their pursuers was abruptly cut off. Collum screwed shut the round door and slid a bolt into place to prevent its being turned again from below. The pale girl stood away from the now-sealed opening, her smile broadening. The Call was much stronger here.

  Gazing about her, she realized all at once that she stood upon the planet's surface, no longer underground. A vast City surrounded her, like none she had ever seen. Strange, stately buildings of colored glass rose on every side, flanking deserted streets. No carts or foot traffic thronged the broad thoroughfares. No lights shone. No sound came, not even an animal's cry. The City stood silent, dead.

  Above her, the sky stretched black, as it always did, night or day. It was night now, for the blinding white jewel of Solstar hung nowhere above the horizon. Only starlight and the ghostly blue face of Oceanus peered down at her through the vast crystal Dome enclosing the City. No wind moved, and the air was thick, heady, hard to breathe. She had never tasted such air before: Ancients' ether.

  "By the underreaches of the world," murmured Brandl, gazing about him at the dark, silent, shimmering buildings of colored glass. "No song or story ever told it was like this."

  "I've never been aboveground before," whispered Maruha. "Is that the sky? Without the Dome overhead, I'd feel I might float away from the ground."

  Collum shuddered and ducked his head. "Be glad we came up when it's night," he murmured. "If the light of Solstar fell on us, we'd turn to stone. Duaroughs weren't made to bear such light as that."

  The pale girl wasn't listening. The Call was irresistible now. She started down the grand street that lay before her. Automatically, the others followed. With the danger of trolls and weaselhounds safely skirted, they too had fallen once more under the influence of the Call. Maruha walked slowly, leaning against Collum, exclaiming time and again over the machinery they passed.

  "What was its function? Where did it come from? Who tended it?"

  Brandl fingered his harp through the fabric of his pack. "Look at the arches on their doorways!" he whispered. "How tall they must have stood."

  The girl paid no attention to anything they said. Turning down a very wide, straight street, she saw at the end of it a great building of green, violet, and indigo glass. A beacon burned in its spire, white and brilliant as Solstar. It was from there that the Call issued. She felt it. Relief and joy filled her. Eagerly, she hurried forward, almost running.

  "Look," cried Brandl.

  "It's the Ravenna's hall," Maruha said. "It must be."

  "Aye, but is the Ravenna even there to be found?" muttered Collum. "Or just her body? The Ancients left bodies when they died, you know. They didn't fall to ash in a few hours' time, like normal folk. Sooth, what makes that light?" he exclaimed. "No oil I know burns so clean and clear."

  The pale girl trotted on. The beacon reminded her of a burning crown, of a tower in which she had once stood, watching a great Flame flare… But the memory slipped away. She focused on the glass palace ahead. The nearer she came to it, the safer she felt. She hastened until she reached the hall: huge and broad based, it seemed to reach up to heaven itself.

  A great door, blank as a mirror, stood at the top of wide steps, barring her. The girl halted and stared, astonished. She had expected no impediment. Her own image, dimly reflected in the dark portal's surface, stared back at her: fair and tall and slender still, but not starved or straggling. The sight of herself no longer frightened her.

  But she had no time to study it now. She needed to enter the hall—and the door was in the way.

  When she brushed it with one hand, it sang to her touch. It felt slippery, seeming to vibrate. Confounded, she recoiled from the strange sensation, then pounded the slick, shimmering door once, twice, angrily.

  The reflections of the three duaroughs gaped at her from the glassy surface. Her fist against the barrier made a dull tonging sound. She scratched with her nails, and the hum sang musically, altering its tone each time she changed the way she struck it.

  "Child, stop. Stop!" Maruha cried. "We've no idea what that is—"

  Impatiently, the girl shook her off. Nothing mattered but her urgency to reach the source of the silent summons that drew her. She slapped the dark door with the flat of her hand. It tammered like a gong.

  Brandl tried to take her other arm, but she snatched it from him. Her heel struck the humming surface, low. It boomed this time, a drum.

  "She'll bring the wrath of the Ravenna down on us—" Collum started.

  "So you do believe the Ancientlady may still live," panted Maruha with some satisfaction.

  "Help me," Brandl exclaimed, trying to get hold of her again. "She's—"

  He broke off abruptly. All four of them stopped, the three duaroughs falling back. Only the pale girl remained planted, staring as, upon the surface of the barrier, the head and shoulders of a man—much larger than life—suddenly shivered into being. His face was broad, with strong, high cheeks, his nose flattened and the nostrils flared. His skin was very dark, his tightly curled hair peppered with grey. He was wearing what might have been a tunic, black and silver. He seemed startled, disconcerted, and therefore fierce.

  "Who knocks so at the port?" he demanded. "This City is closed."

  His countenance alarmed the girl, but she glared back at the image, unable to answer. The three duaroughs came forward hesitantly.

  "We… we seek the counsel of the Ravenna," Maruha began. "We have an upperlander who needs her aid."

  The image of the man frowned and studied them. "Many need our aid," he answered presently, "but we cannot give it. Weightier matters occupy us. Do you not know of our instructions that no one is to disturb this City until we ourselves reopen it? How did you enter? The airlocks are barred."

  "If by airlocks you mean gates leading to the desert outside—" Collum stammered. He looked terrified. "We did not come that way. We came by underpaths. We are duaroughs."

  "I can see that," the dark man's image snapped.

  "We thought all those gates sealed as well, and the service ports. I'm surprised the alarms didn't sound. No matter. By whatever path you entered, take yourselves off by the selfsame—"

  "But we can't!" Brandl cried. "There are weaselhounds and trolls."

  The other sighed in agitation. "Yes, of course. Oriencor's brood. I'd forgotten. Very well. I will open one of the airlocks for you and let you out into the desert."

  "We'll turn to stone when Solstar rises!" Collum exclaimed.

  "We'll starve," Brandl beside him said.

  "Please, sir," Maruha begged. She was panting again, holding her injured arm, near the end of her strength. "We must see the Ravenna. This girl has the Witch's pin behind her ear—"

  "That is not our concern!" the dark man's image answered sharply. "We cannot attend to you."

  The pale girl growled. Desperate rage welled in her. She struck the man's image with the heel of her hand. The stone vibrated with a dull thrum, and the picture shimmered for a moment before reforming.

  His features flinched in surprise, then clouded with anger.

  "Pardon, sir," Maruha cried hurriedly. "She is a child and has been injured by the Witch. Let us in, we beg you. The Ravenna…"r />
  "Has seen no one from outside the Dome in a thousand years." The man's black eyes turned on her impatiendy. "Now be off. I will not admit you."

  Collum and Brandl shifted uneasily. Baring her teeth, the girl prepared to fly at him again.

  "But you must," Maruha pleaded.

  "No!" the other began.

  "Yes, Melkior," another voice cut in quietly. "You must." The words were low and musical, a woman's voice. The pale girl relaxed even as the three duaroughs started and cast about, for the speaker was nowhere to be seen. The image of the dark man, too, glanced startled to one side. "Admit them, Melkior," the deep, sweet voice of the unseen speaker said. "I will aid them."

  The girl stood alone in a sumptuous room. How long since she had entered the great hall through the black doorway, she did not know—an hour? Two? After the woman's words, the dark, shimmering force diat had buzzed and barred diem abrupdy vanished. Presendy Melkior—the man himself—had appeared, life-sized now, no longer the great magnified image. Nevertheless he was very tall, towering over the pale girl. The duaroughs came scarcely to his sash. He led them in graciously enough, but with his mouth tight, brow furrowed in agitation.

  The girl followed him eagerly down long, empty corridors, past dark, glinting galleries. In some of them, lights moving in the walls were making patterns: rose, yellow, violet, green. Nowhere were any lamps lit or any windows to be seen, but the darkness of the hall did not unease her. They met no one.

  Abruptly, their guide had halted, turning toward one wall. It parted like a curtain as he touched it, and the girl moved past him into the chamber beyond.

  The air within was cool and strangely scented, but the floor beneath her feet was warm. It was utterly black, like noon sky between the stars. Curtains of pale gauze draped the windowless walls. As with the rest of the palace, the walls were made of glass: dark blue and rippled, it seemed to harbor a low inner fire that now and again coalesced into little strands of burning color.

  The Call was overwhelming here. It surrounded her, equally strong on every side. She waited now, only remotely aware of the dark man barring the duaroughs from joining her, of Maruha's startled protests, broken off as the wall seamed shut. She stood alone, feeling the coolness of the air and the warmth of the black glass floor underfoot, gazing absently at the colored sparks winking and darting through the ultramarine walls.

  The air in the room shifted, and she turned to see a very tall figure entering the chamber. The portal closed soundlessly behind the woman. Her silver slippers whispered on the floor. She stood even taller than the dark man had. Her features resembled his: high cheekbones, a broad flat nose and generous mouth, but her skin was dusky, not black. Her eyes were deeply blue. She was wearing a robe of jet and indigo. Her hair, dark and wavy, with silver threads, hung unbound behind her. She paused just inside the chamber, surveying the pale girl for a long moment with blue and lionlike eyes.

  "Do you know me, child?" she said at last, her voice very low and full of the music the girl remembered hearing at the greathall's outer door. The tall woman drew closer through the twilight. Her face, though unlined, gave the impression of great age, and her bearing, though upright, of great weariness. "So the pilgrims' Call has brought you to me," she said. "I am glad you have come."

  But she sighed saying it. The pale girl looked at her. The other's face, full of welcome, seemed also strangely sad.

  "What are you hiding beneath your hand?"

  The girl felt not the slightest fear or urge to draw away. She considered only a moment before lifting her hand from her breast. The pearl's soft light shone through the fabric of her gown. Around them, light seemed to gather in the walls, the beads of fire brightening. The dark lady smiled.

  "A lampwing's egg," she murmured, "already kindled! Oh, that is well, for none but a corundum shell can hold what I must give you. May I see it?"

  Without hesitation, the pale girl drew out the shining thing. The dusky woman took it in her palm and passed her other hand over it. The pale girl started, frowning, stared. Her pearl had vanished.

  "Don't fear," said the other gently. "I have it safe, and you will have it back soon, I promise. Now let me look at your head. I want to see what the Witch has done to you."

  The pale girl did not flinch but bowed her head and let the lady's great, delicate hands comb carefully through her hair. They stopped suddenly. She heard the other's indrawn breath.

  "I see it now."

  The music of the other's voice was more soothing to the pale girl than water. She kept her eyes closed, her forehead resting against the tall woman's breast. The other sighed. She did not touch the pin, only kept one hand lightly on the girl's head, cradling it. The dark, rare fragrance that came to the girl from the other's hair, her robe, was like damp earth and flowers never before scented or known.

  "But tell me how it came to pass that you allowed the Witch to put a pin behind your ear. You must have dropped your guard very low to have allowed her that—for she is terrified of you, my green-eyed girl, ever since you stole one of her darkangels in Avaric and made him a man again."

  She heard the other laugh softly, stroking her brow. The words evoked no memories, but she loved the touch of those hands. They were cool and silky dry and smelled of myrrh. This heavier air bore scents—sounds, too—so much more richly than the thin stuff outside the Dome.

  Gently, the woman lifted her head. Dark blue eyes searched the girl's.

  "Such green eyes you have, child. Corundum mingled with the gold, so that magic is as drawn to you as beebirds to wedding trumps."

  The pale girl closed her eyes, breathing in the heady fragrance of the lady and the room.

  "Can you talk at all, child?" the dark lady asked her.

  The girl ducked her head. She could not speak, did not want to, did not want to try.

  "Try," the tall woman urged. "Let me see how deep the pin has bit."

  The pale girl shivered. "Uh," she managed, a dull and ugly sound. "Uhn, mmh."

  The other frowned. "Deep, I see."

  "Mmh," the pale girl muttered. "Ngh."

  One hand left her cheek. She sensed it hovering above the pin.

  "Cold as winterock," the dark lady whispered. "Feel how it chills the air! There can be no leaving it, then. Rest your head against me, child."

  Gratefully, the girl pressed her cheek to the rich fabric of the other's robe. Some of it felt slick and cool, like wet leaves. Other places were warm and napped, like stone moss or mouse's fur. She nestled closer.

  "Peace," the tall woman told her. "Be still." All at once, without warning, the girl felt the pin seized and twisted, plucked suddenly free. The air gave a crackling hiss, smelled acrid of scorching. Then pain rushed into the wound like a flood of fire. Screaming, the girl tore herself from the other's grasp. The dark lady stood, holding the pin up between thumb and forefinger. It was over three inches long, with a crossguard near the blunt end, like a tiny sword. White flame danced along its length. Its point gleamed, wet and red.

  The tall woman reached out to her, her expression full of compassion and horror and grief. With a shriek, the pale girl fended her off. Her own hand came away from her head covered in blood. The room seemed full of brightness now, the fiery pain consuming her. She felt as though her whole being might burn away in the flash. And she was screaming still—but no longer because of the pain. She was screaming because she remembered now. She remembered everything.

  5

  Aeriel

  Her name was Aeriel. She remembered now: born in Pirs, heir to the suzerain there, then sold into slavery after her father's overthrow. And she remembered the darkangel, swooping down on his dozen black pinions to carry her away.

  On Avaric's white plain,

  where an icarus now wings…

  The words ran through her mind like an incantation. She recalled the wedding sari she had donned in marriage to the darkangel—how, to dissolve the evil enchantment upon him, she had surprised him with a magic cu
p made from the hoof of a dead starhorse:

  Then strong-hoof of a starhorse

  must hallow him unguessed

  If adamant's edge is to plunder

  his breast.

  Using the keen edge of an unbreakable blade, she had extracted the darkangel's leaden heart and given him her own to make him mortal again. Once free of the Witch's spell, Prince Irrylath had turned in horror against his former mistress and begun raising an army to destroy her.

  Then, only, may the Warhorse

  and Warrior arise

  To rally the warhosts, and thunder

  the skies.

  Aeriel, meanwhile, had traversed half the nations of Westernesse to rescue the lost Ions, once guardians of the world, who had been turned into gargoyles by the Witch—for without these powerful allies, Aeriel knew, her husband's burgeoning warhost had little hope of victory.

  "What befell you then," the dark lady said, "once you had rescued my Ions at Orm, and stood in the temple Flame, and burned your shadow away?"

  Aeriel could not see her questioner. The Ancient's voice seemed to come from the air. She felt as though she were floating, suspended in nothing. She heard another voice as well: murmuring, telling everything, and realized presently it was her own. Images of whatever she remembered and spoke aloud swirled before her in the darkness in little running beads of fire.

  "After Orm, we departed for Esternesse," she murmured.

  "Where the great conclave was held?"

  Aeriel nodded. "Yes." The pictures of fire strung themselves before her on the darkened air. "But first the women-of-learning and the magic-men brought forth the starhorse."

  "Who had been dead," the other prompted. "Who had been killed years ago by the darkangel."

  "The priestesses said they could rebuild the Horse," Aeriel replied, "call back his wandering soul and revive him in new flesh, the very image of the old, with memory of his former life and death."