Legionnaires ran forward but there was a loud creaking sound and the great room seemed to sway. Glynn realised it was the light, not the room moving, and looking up, she saw the great fiery wheel that lit the immense chamber begin to fall. There were screams of terror and a thunderous crash, and then near-darkness and complete chaos.
17
Lanalor vowed that Shenavyre would see him.
He braved the savage silfi to bring foamstones from
beneath the great water;
He toiled in the deepest crevices
for violet waystones and searched for fallen darklin;
golden feinn-bane he did sing from the deep heart of the oldest trees;
and from these rare and precious things
did he fashion a diadem that was the most beautiful thing ever
made – but she saw not their dead beauty.
LEGENDSONG OF THE UNYKORN
‘Solen is dead,’ Hella cried.
Glynn stared at her, disbelieving. ‘They caught him and executed him so quickly?’
‘He was not caught,’ she sobbed. ‘That much he had of them. He was seen in the song cavern taking off straight out over the great water. Legionnaires pursued him, but he was the best of them and they had to turn back.’ A bleak note of triumph there.
‘Then he escaped!’ Glynn said.
‘Where could he go? There is more than a day of open water between us and Eron isle. That is the nearest land from here. Solen could not remain in the air more than a few hours at most. And he was drunk …’
‘Maybe he wasn’t drunk.’
‘Even sober he could not have flown so far,’ Hella said. ‘And Fomhika is further still.’
‘What if he circled back to Acantha and is hiding on the surface somewhere?’
‘There have been watchers stationed since he left. They would have seen him land. Jurass has called them in just now. He would not do that, unless there was no hope of Solen returning.’
‘Could he have reached a ship?’
Again Hella shook her head. ‘Callstones were used to enquire of Vespi. No ship was nearer than Fomhika, and the next crossing into this sector will be several days from now. Solen could not have sustained height for this length of time, let alone days. And even if he managed to survive in the water as you did, he would not last long enough to be rescued by a ship.’
‘What about currents? Mightn’t they push him to land?’
‘The fastest currents run towards us from Fomhika, so he would be driven this way where death waits for him. I do not think he meant to let them have him alive.’ She sank to her knees and buried her head in her hands. Glynn felt cold with shock, but she could not cry. She was too stunned by the eerie similarity of Solen’s death to Wind’s. It could not be mere chance that they looked alike and had both drowned.
After Solen’s escape, they had left the wing-hall cavern to bring Nema to her apartment. They had gone back to their separate fells in the hope that Solen would come to one of them. Nema had instructed them to send him to her if he returned, saying bluntly that she would help Solen leave Acantha secretly, for she had contact with the Shadowman.
Hella had gaped at that, as much, Glynn realised, because Nema had revealed this of herself than at the fact of it. She had heard enough gossip in the minescrape to know that secrecy was of the utmost importance to the Shadowman. No one ever revealed that they were one of his people except in the direst emergency and, even then, each knew only two or three others, so there could be no complete betrayal. There had been no time to discuss Nema’s unexpected revelation. They had parted in the races, and had not seen one another until Hella burst into the fell. Looking down at the other girl’s glossy head, Glynn had a clear vision of Solen standing before Jurass, refusing bluntly to recant. What had motivated him to such a dramatic end? Why hadn’t he agreed to go with the Draaka? He might later have pretended to be reformed. At least he would have been alive.
‘Oh, Glynn, what can I do?’ Hella asked, lifting her tear-stained face. ‘If only I had not nagged and nagged at him to mend his ways, he might not have been driven to this.’
Glynn had no comfort to offer. She could only wonder how much her own words to Solen had played a part in the night’s work. She thought of the things she had said the one time they talked properly.
‘If you aren’t happy …’
‘You cannot know the depth of my unhappiness, Glynna.’
His eyes had been almost violet in the dim firelight that night, and there had been real anguish in them. She had forgiven his irrational anger, later, believing she had caused him to feel ashamed of his lifestyle.
But perhaps nothing she had said meant anything to him. Her mind turned relentlessly to Solen’s words at the wing hall, when Jurass had asked about her.
‘She is nothing to me. A mere chance-met forced on me by Carick wavespeaker … Accuse me of what you will, but I do have some taste.’
Cruel words, and whatever else he had been, Solen had not seemed a cruel person. But perhaps that had been only another unknown facet of an enigmatic and troubled man.
Hella’s sobs had abated and she was gasping like a child who had all but cried herself out. Glynn stroked her hair soothingly until she drifted into a restless sleep.
I could not help Solen or Wind, Glynn thought sadly. Maybe I can’t help Ember either, but I will not let her die alone. A fierce gladness filled Glynn at the knowledge that she had the means to leave Acantha. The darklin was worth enough to bring Hella away as well. Perhaps Hella could go to Darkfall, too. They would travel there together and she might even tell her the truth about her presence on Keltor. When they reached Darkfall, she would ask the soulweavers how she had come to Keltor and how she might return to her own world.
But first she had to sell the darklin.
She shook Hella’s shoulder and the other girl sat up, bewildered. ‘I had a terrible nightmare …’ She looked into Glynn’s face and her eyes filled with tears. ‘It was not a nightmare, was it? Solen is dead.’
Glynn nodded, sorry to have brought Hella back to grief, but the urge to act was too powerful for her to be still any longer.
‘Hella, go back to your fell and make enquiries for me about when the next ship is due here.’
‘But … I do not understand. You are … you are leaving?’
‘We are leaving. Trust me and go quickly. Pack your things and seek out a minescrape proxy called Lev. He is a friend of mine and often drinks in the same place we were to meet yesterday evening – Gard’s nightshelter in Wena cavesite. Tell Lev I will pay him for his trouble and bless him for his friendship if he will let you stay there until I come. I will return as soon as I can. Tell him to leave directions to his fell at the nightshelter. I will not come back here.’
‘But where are you going?’ Hella stammered.
‘There are things I must do. To get the coin we need to leave Acantha.’
‘But you will return?’
‘I promise,’ Glynn said.
When she had gone, Glynn unbound her hair and removed the ornate head-dress and golden sheath. She washed the smudged paint off her face and donned the worn trousers and tunic she had been given by Solen on the Waverider. As she did so, memories of the dead windwalker plucked at her with unexpected sharpness. She felt him put the blanket around her shoulders aboard the ship as he helped her up the stairs.
‘I will not let you fall,’ he had promised, when they were in the air.
But you fell, she thought with anguish; into the sea, like Wind.
Glynn took a deep, steadying breath, and looked around one last time. She was not sorry to leave the dark, cold cave. There was nothing of her here; nothing even of Solen. She left quietly. With no bags to carry, she made her way quickly down the races to the song cavern. It was deserted for it was still very early. Glynn had never seen it so empty, nor so silent. For once, even the wind was still. She crossed to the great opening and stared out to sea.
At first, her mind was empt
y. The view was magnificent and she simply absorbed it. Both moons had set and the horizon was transformed by the approach of dawn into a radiant seam.
She sat down on the edge to wait for the arrival of the first windwalkers who would take the early shift of minescrapers down to the shafts. She would offer coin to be windwalked to the surface of the island. Then she would walk to the haven and sell her darklin to the Draaka. She wanted to think how to phrase her offer of the stone but, instead, found herself picturing Solen. It was insane. She had hardly known him and yet his death, like Wind’s and her parents’, deepened the emptiness in her. She told herself it must be because he had reminded her of Wind.
Far below, waves crashed at the base of the island with a muted roar, and as the wind began to rise, and with it the wailing that gave the song cavern its name, she thought again of the old Greek man’s music. There had been a line in the song about a moontide that ran between worlds. Bare minutes later, Glynn had swum in a moonlit sea and ended up in Keltor. Was it possible the sea was part of it? The balladeer at the wing hall had sung about the sea as well. What was it? Something that had reminded her of Sleeping Beauty. That was it – Lanalor had encased Shenavyre’s body in ice to preserve it and then had thrown it into the sea. Of course it would have melted, but it was just a song.
‘A Song made the world,’ Hella had said. ‘Maybe the Song brought you …’
A song or a portal or moonlight on the water? Maybe all three in some combination.
Glynn yawned. She was so tired her thoughts were becoming confused. She needed to rest but a sense of urgency drove her. She must sell the darklin and use the coin she had raised to get two passages aboard the next ship off Acantha. She doubted Jurass would stop them leaving but she would not rest until they were safely on a ship.
She felt in her pocket in sudden alarm, but the darklin was still there amidst her little jingling store of coin. She took out the stone and stared into it, calculating what it would be worth, when she felt the strange, sliding sensation again. This time she knew what was happening and tried to pull back, but the force propelling her was inexorable. She ceased resisting, seeing it was useless, and waited to see what vision she came upon this time.
Her body tingled from head to toe as she was drawn towards a bluish light. She felt a brief chill as it swallowed her. Then she was standing in Wind’s studio wearing her white training costume. The light was peculiar and there was something wrong about the dimensions of the room.
‘Lose hope and you will lose …’ Wind said, coming up behind her in the mirror, and striking her hard on the back.
Without thinking, she whirled to face him, hands readied.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘Your reactions must be instinctive.’ He attacked and Glynn fought him off. He came at her, sweeping low, his movements like lightning. His hand lashed out unexpectedly and she was on the floor, her head ringing painfully.
‘I can’t do it. You’re too fast,’ she protested. ‘It’s not fair for you to come at me so quickly. You’re so much better than me!’
‘You think a battle is ever fair?’ Wind demanded with a sudden fierceness that made him look more than a little crazy. He pulled her to her feet.
‘What do you mean?’ she stammered, her back and head aching from the force of his blows.
‘Fairness is the invention of humans, Glynna. Listen to me; it does not matter that I am better than you. Sooner or later, I will make a mistake. Then there will be a moment when you can beat me. I am very good, and it may be only a split-second error, but it will be enough if you are waiting for it. But if you tell yourself I am too good, you will blind your eyes with hopelessness and the moment will slip by unnoticed.’
He kissed her softly and released her. ‘Now we will practise. Your movements just now lacked harmony. You must flow from one position to the next. The sequence of movements which we call the kata must always be a dance, even when it is a weapon.’
I practise every day, Glynn thought indignantly. Then she remembered. She had practised every day until Wind’s death.
‘I … I don’t understand,’ she whispered. ‘What is happening?’
Wind looked at her. ‘We are training, Glynna-love. We must limber you, for there are battles ahead.’
‘But you are …’ She swallowed fear. ‘You are dead.’
‘I am,’ Wind agreed. ‘I am also a memory and a possibility that did not come to pass, for all that has been and could be lies within the Void. Come, let me show you this movement for you will have need of it.’
‘But … Wind, are you a ghost?’
He smiled. ‘Many terms I would once have used are too small for what I now know. You may think of me as a reflection of the Wind you knew but, in truth, that Wind was but an echo of his longings as you are of yours.’
‘Do you know where I am?’
‘Your body is in the world wrought by the Song, and your mind has entered the Void.’
‘Do you know if Ember is all right?’
‘She is as you wished.’
‘I don’t understand. Are you telling me the tumour has gone?’
‘That is not what you wished. You wished she would forget she is dying, and she has forgotten.’
‘No!’ Glynn cried, and the force of her cry catapulted her into the swirling mists of the Void and towards another circle of light.
Entering it, she saw herself kneeling on the ground in a cave and holding a candle up over a huge trunk overflowing with rolled-up parchments.
‘The answer you seek is here,’ said a man’s voice which Glynn did not recognise.
‘These were Lanalor’s personal scribings during the time he created his portal, but he concealed them and laid wards to keep them hidden from all eyes but those for whom they were intended. The Soulsaver …’
The vision-Glynn turned to stare over her shoulder at the speaker.
‘I do not understand,’ Glynn heard herself say in a stunningly accurate Keltan accent. ‘The Unraveller is the same thing as the Soulsaver. The Legendsong says: Then came the Unraveller and Soulsaver …’
Abruptly, Glynn found herself back in the entrance cavern, staring into the darklin.
She shuddered and thrust the stone into her pocket for fear of invoking it again. It could not be true that her wish had erased Ember’s memory. Wind had said it was so, but he was dead. She had been dreaming lies woven out of bits of reality, meaningless gibberish. The sooner she was rid of the darklin the better.
Kalinda rose at last, looking red and huge enough to engulf the world. Glynn heard the sound of footsteps above the soft wailing of the wind, and turned to see a group of the windwalkers emerge yawning from a race. Approaching, she asked bluntly if one of them would windwalk her to the surface.
‘I want to go on a pilgrimage to the Draaka haven,’ she said.
One of the men shrugged and agreed to carry her up for a hacoin. ‘But you will have to walk to the haven,’ he added.
The price was exorbitant, Glynn was sure, but she was in no position to argue. She paid and in a short time she was on the surface of Acantha.
There was a cold, stiff sea breeze but the blue sky arched overhead, unmarred by a single cloud, and already there was warmth in Kalinda’s rays. As the windwalker departed, Glynn sucked the scent of the dew-damp sether into her lungs, feeling almost dizzy from the fresh brightness of everything. She had not been aware how much the dark caves had oppressed her.
She began to walk towards the mountain Solen had named the Black Tower.
In spite of everything, she was moved by the beauty of the unfolding morning and her spirit seemed to lighten. She wondered at her callousness. Solen had died and, though unexpectedly haunted by the memory of him, she could still experience contentment. Maybe it was simply that, having again been brushed by death, she was relishing her own life. Why should she despise a simple moment of pleasure because it came in a dark time? Wasn’t life all the more precious? Maybe that was all happiness ever was: moments
of ecstasy that fleeted by unnoticed because you were too busy looking for the big happiness that was going to change your life and make everything right.
By afternoon, her delight in being outside again had been eroded by thirst, and by the savage hammering of a monstrous headache caused by the glare of the sunlight reflected off the white moss. After days in the Acanthan fell system, barely seeing natural daylight, Glynn’s eyes could not tolerate the radiance. Nor was there any landmark big enough to offer shade.
In addition, she was worried about what she would do when night came. Lev had said the Draaka paid well for darklins, but perhaps her accidental use of the stone had depleted its power and therefore its value. They might have ways of measuring what power remained. Other than selling the stone, she was also going to need shelter for the night after the transaction was completed. She should have coin enough to pay for her bed, but would the Draaka let her stay? It was cold enough in the caverns at night – the idea of being forced to sleep on the surface at the mercy of night dew and icy sea winds did not bear thinking about.
Finally, what had begun as such a pleasurable expedition ended as a test of Glynn’s endurance. She was parched and stumbling with exhaustion by the time she was close enough to catch a glimpse of the Draaka haven in the shadow of the almost perpendicular Black Tower. At the same time, she was becoming very cold, for the temperature had dropped dramatically as Kalinda approached the distant horizon.
But her first close sight of the grim fortress drove all other sensations from Glynn’s mind. Built of grey-green slabs of stone, it had clearly taken its shape from the uncompromising mountain behind. She could not imagine why it had been named ‘haven’ except as some sort of irony. It had no windows and was completely unadorned. It reminded her, rather, of a windowless warehouse several storeys high. Or a prison, whispered a sly little voice.
Her steps faltered and then stopped of their own accord, and she was suddenly full of doubts. Had she done the right thing in coming here? Seeing the Draaka look so normal at the wing hall had given her the idea of selling the darklin to the woman. But the sombre haven looked ominous in the gathering darkness, and reminded her uncomfortably of all the bad things she had heard about the Draaka.
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