Darkfall

by Isobelle Carmody

  Bayard fell silent as the feinna nuzzled her palm.

  ‘Feinna are very unusual creatures,’ she went on softly. ‘Some claim they are no more of this world than the elusive Vespari, that they are Void creatures, but I do not believe it. They mate only once in their lives and, at that moment, all of the young they will ever bear are fertilised. At the same time, development of the fertilised eggs is arrested. During this single mating, the pair form a mental link and they cannot ever after be physically parted by more than a short distance. Fertilisation is the same as choosing a life mate. The pair then search for a nesting place where they construct an elaborate bower. When this is done, the female will permit two or three of the young to come to term as a litter. Feinna females have complete control of their reproductive processes. When labour is imminent, the bond between the mated pair becomes very strong, for it seems to play some vital part in the birth process.’

  ‘You said the female went into labour after it was shot and its mate was dead.’

  Bayard frowned at the interruption. ‘Normally the female would have willed itself to death after the loss of its mate because this is also a severing of the link between them, but shock caused the female’s labour to begin at the very moment it would have willed itself to die. Its instinct as a mother warred with its instinct to die. Worse, birth was imminent but, as you have noted, there was no mate to aid in the process. I was there and I pitied the animal. Somehow – and it is still unclear to me exactly how – the feinna drew my mind into a link. I believe that you experienced a fleeting linking with the feinna yesterday, though you may not now remember it. The mated feinna communicate mind to mind in images …’

  ‘You are saying you are linked like that with the feinna’s mind now?’

  ‘Not properly, for we are not the same kind of thing. Our minds do not match, you see, nor our modes of communication. It is as if a silfi attempted to communicate with an aspi. The very act of linking with me, in fact, could only be accomplished because the female altered itself in some way. If you like, there is a part of it which is human now. That is why it is able to live among humans.’

  ‘The babies?’ Glynn prompted, but she knew.

  Bayard sighed heavily. ‘They were stillborn, of course. I do not know what went wrong because I was drawn by the link into the trauma of the birth. Perhaps if I had been able to think clearly, I might have used what abilities I have to try to aid the birthing. When the babies were dead, the feinna wanted to die, but because we were linked she could not.’

  All at once, Glynn understood what had motivated the draakira to disobey her mistress. ‘The feinna is pregnant again!’

  Bayard nodded. ‘I am afraid so. I do not know why it has elected to bring more young to term, but the link between us allows me to understand that it wants these to live, for it has no more. I fear it will die this time if the birth is not successful.’

  ‘How sad …’ Glynn murmured.

  ‘Indeed. Sad for many reasons. Aside from my concern for the feinna, I very much fear what will happen to me if it dies, for the link is powerful between us. The idea of using you to weaken it came to me when it took cheese from you the other day. It has never shown the slightest interest in anyone else before. What happened yesterday when I left you alone as an experiment proves the link can be affected. I had speculated that it might be so, but now I know it for a fact. It means I might be able to help the feinna birth live young, if you are able to distract it and keep it from flooding my mind with emotion and pain images during the delivery. And even if I fail, I might survive the feinna’s death if the link between us is weakened by your presence. Your own experience of birthing aspi is an unexpected gift, for if I am caught up in the birth process, you can use your skills to deliver the feinna’s young.’

  Glynn wanted to laugh hysterically at the thought of delivering anything but newspapers. The only birth she had ever seen had been on video in a pastoral care class, and she had almost passed out!

  She decided not to dwell on that. ‘What if the Draaka finds out I’m not drugged?’

  ‘She would be very angry,’ Bayard said seriously. ‘But if I can convince her that, other than saving my life if the birth fails, your undrugged presence will prevent the feinna distracting me during Draaka rituals, I think she will accept that what I have done is for the best.’

  ‘Rituals?’

  Bayard’s eyes became cold. ‘They are none of your affair. You have a choice now to help me or not, and I put it to you to decide. I can return you to the Prime and confess what I have done. The Draaka will forgive me. The feinna’s young will die, perhaps the feinna also. Possibly me as well. You will be a drone or dead. Or you can try to help me and, in turn, I will see what can be done to help you.’

  ‘How can I refuse?’ Glynn said flatly.

  ‘Just so. You will remain here patiently and if anyone comes, you will behave as if you are a drone. Tomorrow night there is an important ceremony here. You will be left with the feinna and I will attend the ceremony. If all goes well and the feinna does not pull at me so deeply, the Draaka will be pleased, and I will tell her the truth.’

  ‘After that?’

  ‘We will see. It may be that you will be given certain freedoms since you could not escape the outer perimeter of the haven – there is one door and it is always guarded. But even if the Draaka insists I keep you locked up until the feinna young are born, I promise that I will do my utmost to convince her to free you when we have gained ascendancy over Keltor. It is a chance I offer you, and no more. As a drone, you would have nothing – not even your own will.’

  21

  Chastened by Shenavyre’s contempt for his gift,

  Lanalor sought to redeem himself,

  turning his skill to medicants and healing potions;

  and many who were healed by him praised and blessed him.

  But Shenavyre had no need of his arts,

  for no potion could rival the healing power

  of the Unykorn’s Sacred Horn …

  LEGENDSONG OF THE UNYKORN

  ‘These are not the most precious scrolls we have, but they are valuable so you must be careful,’ Bayard said.

  Glynn nodded, relieved to have something to occupy her. She had slept badly, dreaming strange chaotic dreams she was not sure were her own, and had pleaded with the draakira to give her something to do before she went crazy.

  Bayard had looked around the tiny fetid cell as if seeing it for the first time, then she had gone away and returned with an armful of scrolls, a pot, a tiny brazier and a brush. As she unpacked them, she explained that the feinna’s natural habitat when it was pregnant was an almost completely enclosed bower, hence the small stuffy room.

  ‘Now,’ she said, gesturing at the scrolls, ‘the lettering in these is beginning to fade because the ink used was flawed. The wax resin in the pot must be painted over the faded patches of script to preserve them from further deterioration. It stabilises the old ink, but it needs to be heated before you can use it.’

  She lit the brazier, then balanced the pot atop it, removing its stopper. Bubbles began to form in the resin, and when it was completely liquefied she lifted it off the flame. ‘If it is overheated it loses its usefulness.’

  She unrolled one of the scrolls and found one of the affected sections. Dipping the brush into the resin, she painted it onto the scroll in thin even strokes. It then had to be held flat to dry for the count of fifty.

  ‘Now you do it.’

  Glynn located a faded patch further down the same scroll, painted it deftly and held it flat to dry. Bayard looked pleased. ‘You have a good touch. Too much resin ruins the scroll. I wish you had come to the haven seeking to become part of our scholarly community here. It can be a rewarding life. The Draaka understands us and is very generous. You might consider joining us.’

  ‘I have my own life. My sister is dying …’ Glynn said without thinking what she was saying.

  Fortunately, Bayard seemed not to ha
ve heard. Her hearing appeared to be entirely contained within the field of her own interests. Useful in one way, but absolutely insular.

  ‘Where did you learn to read scrolls?’ she asked now.

  ‘From my mother,’ Glynn said. ‘She was a scholar and very different from me. I think I disappointed her.’

  ‘I would be surprised to hear a parent would be disappointed by a daughter with honour.’

  ‘How do you know I have honour?’ Glynn asked curiously.

  ‘I feel it to be so. But, more importantly, the feinna would not have tolerated you if you lacked it.’ She cast a fond glance over the animal, which was finishing its breakfast.

  ‘I would not have thought human ideas of right and wrong would mean anything to an animal,’ Glynn said.

  ‘Nor do they,’ Bayard agreed. ‘But the feinna is troubled when I say one thing and think another. The inconsistency disturbs it. I call the feinna my conscience because for its sake, I must obey mine, but it is also a truth detector. When people around it lie, it reacts.’

  ‘It can read minds,’ Glynn murmured, fascinated.

  ‘Not quite,’ Bayard smiled and Glynn acknowledged that, against all odds, she was beginning to like the draakira. Bayard became brisk then, saying she must go but that she would return later in the day. After she had gone, Glynn ate most of the porridge Bayard had brought earlier, wondering how it had been procured, since it was not drugged. Probably it was part of her own breakfast. Glynn was on the verge of finishing the last spoonful when she caught the feinna’s eye. It was staring hard at her and she grinned and put her bowl down.

  The little animal waddled over and licked it clean.

  Glynn turned her attention to the scrolls, searching for faded patches and laying on resin as she had been instructed. It was dull work, but better than stewing over her impotence, or worrying about what might happen that night if the feinna still interfered with Bayard’s concentration during the Draaka’s rituals.

  Holding one of the scrolls flat so a painted section would dry, she began absently to read what was written on it.

  ‘To call the Chaos spirit evil,’ the scroll said, ‘is as meaningless as declaring day good and night evil. Yet so arbitrary were Lanalor and his sister Alyda …’

  She sighed. More of the same sort of thing she had been hearing since she’d set foot on this myth-smothered planet. Did no one write or speak of anything but the Legendsong and Lanalor? She read on.

  ‘Chaos or disorder is a natural part of life. From Chaos springs much that is good and fresh and new. Did not we and our world spring from the Song of Making, which itself rose out of Chaos? How can the Chaos be evil if the Song is not? Chaos is merely the unformed beginning of all things. It can be dangerous but no more so than the wind or the rain. We do not suggest ending rain or stopping the wind. Nor should we attempt to eradicate Chaos from our lives. It cannot be removed like a wart, and it is dangerous to repress it. That has been the aim of the soulweaving sisterhood. To repress it, or pretend it is evil and say it must be destroyed. We must accept the violence and passion of our human nature that is Chaos, unless we would turn away and inward, eschewing life, as do the soulweavers. Does not the Legendsong itself say humankind contains an emptiness? A Void. And that within this Void is the essence of Making? Is it not Chaos which brings us closest to the divine Song? The answer to the dilemma of Chaos is to accept that it is within us, and train ourselves to control and channel it.’

  Glynn knew enough of the much-vaunted Legendsong by now to see that the writer was trying to recast Darkfall’s symbols along Draaka lines. She wished suddenly that she could read the original Legendsong in its entirety. As far as she could guess, it was an epic historical poem like The Iliad and The Odyssey. The scroll she was reading seemed to be a philosophical treatise, rather than a document. Given its didactic tone, it might even be one of the chits sent out by the Draaka, which Nema had mentioned. It was not a bad argument. Humans certainly did have the capacity for chaos, as much here as on her world. Recasting symbols was nothing new either. The early Christians had reshaped pagan mythology to support their dogma and give old symbols new meanings. Symbols were powerful things which seemed to contain a resonance and relevance beyond their ordinary selves. Take a symbol like a flood. How many stories did the flood myth appear in on her world? Dozens. It was as if symbols floated on some level of consciousness that crossed all boundaries, and maybe even worlds.

  Beginning to treat a section deeper in the scroll, Glynn was suddenly struck by the astonishing realisation that, by chance, she had stumbled on the perfect opportunity to get the information she needed to return to her own world. Nema had said the Draaka’s tame scholars were authorities on Lanalor’s portal, and here she was in a room next to those scholars, working on scrolls!

  Excited, she began to skim-read with real attention.

  Some hours later, she stopped to reheat what remained of the resin, which had gone completely cold while she read.

  All of the scrolls were scholarly arguments, most concerned with interpreting Lanalor’s activities as Holder of Keltor, or his personal life leading up to and following his reign. So far she had not come across a single mention of his portal. Either it did not exist or there was a reason for its conspicuous absence. But she was becoming genuinely interested in Lanalor, whose life and work seemed to have had such an indelible impact on his world.

  Stirring the thickened resin, Glynn reflected that Lanalor’s adult life seemed to fall into three distinct phases. His early manhood was well documented. Most sources agreed on his doings and motivations. Born on Vespi, Lanalor had risen to rule first his tribe, and then his island. He had eradicated old tribal boundaries, forming the first united island community, which he called a sept; the word derived from an old Vespian term meaning a group that belongs to itself. Vespians had always built ships to cast for waterflyts and for raids on nearby Iridom, but Lanalor had the wavespeakers build an armada of three bigger ships, and set off with a considerable force to explore Keltor.

  Beginning with known Iridom, he took over island after island by the simple expedient of landing with all of his force, and taking tribal leaders and their families prisoner aboard the ships.

  The dispossessed tribal warlords and their families were brought to Ramidan, which until then had been mainly deserted. Lanalor had been in the process of building a magnificent city on the island, which was to become the personal sept of the Holder and ruler of all Keltor. The old tribal leaders were given places of honour in what would become the citadel and formed the nucleus of the Holder’s court.

  The invasions were largely bloodless because the island communities consisted of fragmented groups with local warlords striving for supremacy and no organised defence. Lanalor departed, leaving his brothers or cousins to sort out the chaos left in the wake of his invasion and to rule in his name. He made it clear that the new chieftains ruled their islands absolutely, but were ultimately answerable to him.

  Most of the inhabitants quickly learned that they were better off under the new regime, which forbade internal warfare. The quality of life improved dramatically, for Lanalor facilitated trade and commerce between the septs, minted a common coinage and set up a universal system of law based on a loose sort of hearing before a sept tribunal. A higher appeal could be made to Lanalor himself, who would, if he saw reason to question the earlier judgment, appoint a panel of three chieftains to judge the matter anew. One scroll observed that there had been only three cases before a chieftains’ panel.

  Lanalor might have failed in his dream of establishing a peaceful, planet-wide community, one scroll had remarked, except that he was Vespian and had the power of the wavespeakers squarely behind him. Vespians built the only ships and they alone had the power to control the waves. No one could cross from one island to another without them. Lacking their support, no one had the means to oppose Lanalor.

  The only real concern people had was over what would happen when Lanalor died. It
had been woven by many with soulweaving tendencies that he would father no child. In any case, he was violently opposed to blood-descended rule.

  The next period of his life was less clear, but it was marked chiefly by his falling in love with the Sheannite woman, Shenavyre; a visionweaver who had not returned his affections. With the help of his sister who had soulweaving tendencies, Lanalor used darklins to enable him to segue in the Void in search of a gift that would win Shenavyre. Whatever he had suffered in the Void rendered him insane. But he was still the Holder of Keltor, and the period that followed was a time of blood and madness, as Lanalor became convinced that there was a plot against him and set up an inquisition.

  Painting resin on a new scroll, Glynn reflected that it was little wonder Shenavyre had vanished. But that had not helped everyone else. Vespi would not turn against Lanalor and so there was no way to stop his reign of lunacy. The sole check on him appeared to be his beloved sister, Alyda. It was during this time that he had given her the tiny island of Darkfall, which lay within the almost completely closed Myrmidor harbour – an island within an island. Lanalor had always been fascinated by soulweaving tendencies, and wanted to enable his sister to establish an order of people who would study soulweaving and practise it. Most of the scrolls pointed out at length that the establishment of Darkfall had been accomplished by a lunatic.

  Shenavyre’s death marked the end of this second period. There were numerous versions of the Sheannite woman’s death: Lanalor had killed her in madness when his agents found her; she had tried to kill him and he had killed her in self-defence; she had been murdered by people who feared her influence on Lanalor; she had killed herself to escape his pursuit. Glynn had heard a number of these already during her time on Acantha. Regardless of how she had died, all agreed that afterwards Lanalor changed dramatically. The inquisition was disbanded and Keltor returned to shattered peace. Lanalor lost all interest in ruling and spent more and more time soulweaving. One scroll said he lost himself in visions of Shenavyre alive, laughing and loving him, among all the possibilities contained within the Void. But most of the scrolls indicated he had a new darker desire in the Unraveller demon. Glynn remembered the balladeer who had suggested the Unraveller bewitched first Shenavyre, then Lanalor.