The Way Between the Worlds

by Ian Irvine

  There was still some way to go when Karan felt a shocking pain in her ear. Her head was completely covered by the void-leech. She arched her back and drummed her heels on the floor. Her blind hands tore the mantle of the creature to shreds but it just re-formed. In her trance-like state she could do no more; she could not get it off.

  They rushed down the last shimmering tunnel of the Way, leapt the last barrier. The Wall appeared in front of them. They shot through the Wall; their senses flashed back into their bodies. Her eardrum felt as if it had been torn open. Karan let out a despairing wail, a sending that once more disturbed the void-leech, temporary reprieve for her assaulted eyeball. The creature flopped back down onto her face. Rulke! Her mind screamed at him. Rulke, help me!

  Rulke lay motionless, unable to find the way out of the trance. It was up to her. She fired up every painful, shocking and horrible emotion she had ever felt, mixed them up with her disgust and terror of the amorphous thing now flapping at her face, and bounced them back and forth between the mirrors of her mind, amplifying them at every turn, until they burst out in all directions, emotions so strong and raw that no one could resist them.

  Rulke jerked as if he had taken hold of an electric eel and fell off the construct, hitting his head so hard that she was sure he had fractured his skull. However he turned over and came to hands and knees. “Karan?” he said dazedly.

  Help! she screamed over the link, since her mouth was full of leech.

  He crawled toward her, ever so slowly. With bare hands he ripped the void-leech off her face and flung it at the Wall. It splattered into jelly that slid down, already collecting itself together for another assault. Hauling himself back onto the construct, he spun an aiming wheel then fell against a purple knob. Light roared out of the front and boiled the creature into a sickly sweet-smelling vapor.

  It burned a crater right through the Wall. A bulge appeared in the fabric of the Forbidding, then another. An arm thrust through the hole and out leapt the most frightening thing Karan had ever seen. She felt the shock in Rulke’s mind, the memory of long ago: thranx! It leapt at them and its great shoulder struck the construct, rattling that massive machine like a child’s toy.

  Karan was slow to move. Her brain seemed to have lost the ability to control her body. Experimenting with crawling, she lifted an arm and a leg at the same time and toppled on her side like a baby. Her belly ached; her head spun. She rolled sideways and tried to look like a piece of rubble, and knew that she didn’t.

  The thranx went after Rulke, who was still clinging to his seat. A crack of leather wings propelled it up on top of the construct, where it lunged at him. He ducked, the construct rolled and he fell off again. The thranx leapt after him, landed with a thud that shook the tower and slashed at Rulke with long yellow claws. He scuttled backward, darting and ducking around the other side, and sprang from the floor up into his seat. Yellow light came out of a rod at the front, searing the thranx’s thigh and melting part of a low wall behind it.

  The thranx reared up, its wings soaring so high that they touched the mess of tangled roof beams suspended above them. Though it made no sound, it screwed up its face and clenched its fists. For an instant Karan sensed its agony, its desperation to get out of the void and find a safe place to nest. Its emotions flashed and faded like misty breath on a window. Karan was confounded. Its fears and longings were similar to her own.

  The light touched the winged creature’s thigh again, tracing a fiery line toward its groin. The thranx made a sound like a scalded cat, sprang at an embrasure which was too small and went out the side of Carcharon in an explosion of broken stone. Part of the wall collapsed behind it. The wind howled in through the new opening. Karan crawled into the rubble pile as other creatures strained against the gossamer walls of the Forbidding. She was too exhausted to blink.

  The dark moon shone straight down through the broken roof of the tower—it was midnight. Momentarily Rulke wrestled with some hideous, many-clawed and fanged beast that appeared out of nowhere. It got away from him and leapt toward Karan, who scurried up onto the rubble, desperate to get out of its reach. “Karan, here!” Rulke shouted, tossing her the knife he had taken a week ago.

  She caught it and ran up a slender beam, but the creature jumped on the other end, flicking her hard against the wall. The knife fell into the rubble, out of reach. She lay winded as the creature crept toward her.

  The commotion had brought a squad of Ghâshâd racing up the stairs. “To me!” Rulke roared, and they ran to his aid with swords and spears. Together they forced Karan’s assailant back through the Wall.

  Karan picked herself up, wondering if her ribs were broken. Now only Rulke’s strength held back the things that clawed at the Wall. If he were overcome, they would pour in until they choked all Santhenar. And she had helped to make this disaster.

  Out of the vent surged other beasts, smaller than the thranx but seeming equally cunning. They appeared more or less human, though immensely hairy. They separated, one feinting and slashing at Rulke with unnaturally long arms, while another sprang up on the construct. A third bailed up the Ghâshâd on the other side of the room.

  “Lorrsk!” said Rulke. “And I’m already spent.”

  These were not dumb beasts either. The one on top slammed into the seat and gripped the levers of the construct in a very knowing way, with feet that were like huge clawed hands. Its bucket-sized mouth grinned at Rulke, flashing many yellow teeth.

  Rulke swung a jagged length of wood at the first lorrsk, clouting it over the side of the head and sending it sprawling into the rubble. It staggered out, blood pouring from a gash in its thigh to pool on the floor, then abruptly flung itself on Rulke and wrestled him to the ground. They rolled over and over, grunting and groaning. Karan found another billet of wood and whacked the lorrsk over the head, but it hardly noticed.

  The other beast banged the levers forward. The construct groaned, lurched backward and sideways, then began to sink down until the lower side was below the levers of the floor. The stone appeared to have softened beneath it. The lorrsk chittered, flinging the levers opposing ways. The construct bucked and blurred, seemingly trying to rearrange its component atoms. Molten yellow gushed out of an aperture at the front, splashing golden on the floor.

  Karan had not appreciated how the Forbidding protected them. Fragments of tales burst in her mind—myths and fairy stories from the distant past. This was all too horrible! She danced around the wrestling pair like a dervish and, seeing an opportunity, stabbed the lorrsk in the ear with the jagged end of her billet. It yelped.

  It was the chance Rulke needed. Gaining the upper hand in his wrestling match, he slammed the lorrsk down on its back. He manipulated something with his fingers, whereupon the construct bucked. The second lorrsk described an arc in the air, still holding onto one lever. The construct flung itself upward. The lorrsk soared through the air to land on its hairy backside right in the molten puddle. It screamed so harsh and shrill that Karan had to stop her ears. An awful smell of burnt hair and charred flesh filled the room. The lorrsk moved away, its buttocks sweating blood like meat on a hotplate, and fell through the embrasure.

  The other lorrsk flung Rulke on his back, slammed its knee into his belly then lunged, trying to bite his throat. Karan yelled and pronged it in the ear again, snapping its head sideways so hard that its teeth jarred. With a superhuman effort Rulke hurled it off him into the rubble. He staggered to his feet, wrenched a long jagged beam hanging down from the roof and tried to spear the creature with it. It yelped, rolled flat head over pointy heels, ended up near an embrasure and tumbled out head first.

  Karan slid to the floor, panting, wrung dry. The broken roof groaned where Rulke had pulled the beam out. Two of the Ghâshâd and the third lorrsk lay dead. Three Ghâshâd heaved the body out the window while the others tried to hold the roof from collapsing completely. Rulke flopped on his face, so exhausted that he could not even stand. I’m free, she thought, if I can hold off
the aftersickness.

  Rulke’s vacant stare touched her. “Too… hard,” he gasped, scarcely able to frame the words. “I was not strong enough.”

  “You overreached yourself and betrayed my trust,” she shouted.

  “Not intentionally…”

  Karan realized that she could hardly hear on her left side. She put her hand to her ear. It came back all bloody. “I’ve finished with you!” she screamed. “I’ve paid my debt.”

  “Not until I say so.” Rulke raised his hand weakly, but could not hold it up. “Aftersickness is like a fire in my brain,” he mumbled and collapsed.

  The broken roof rumbled and slid further down, to halt just over Rulke’s head. The Ghâshâd struggled frantically to maneuver a prop under it. The Wall faded almost to nothing. Out of the corner of her eye Karan saw something ease apart the ragged hole.

  “You’d better seal that up, quick!” she shouted. Scooping up pack and cloak—she’d not survive outside without them—Karan hurtled down the stairs.

  Near the bottom she saw that one wall of the tower had collapsed below as well as above, though the stairs and most of the floor still hung there. There was a hole in the wall three arm-spans wide. Lights shone out onto the snow. Below was a huge gouge where the thranx had landed, and a white mound thrown up against the outer wall.

  Karan was just about to take a flying leap down when she realized that the mound was made of rubble, and a broken ankle was the most likely result. The freezing wind roared in, pressing her against the wall. She wrestled the cloak around her and continued down. On the ground floor she raced toward the front door, then stopped dead. A thranx stood by the doorway. Further down an odd-shaped hall, other creatures clustered together. With a squawk of terror she turned the other way, saw more in front of her, then realized that they were just bronze statues.

  As she edged by, half-expecting them to come to life, the first spasm of aftersickness doubled her over. Not now! she thought, tearing at the brass bolt. Her skin stuck to the frigid metal. Karan peeled her fingers off, hastily put on gloves and slammed back the bolt.

  The wind flung the door open and a blast of snow blinded her. She ran out, peering all around from the wide landing, hoping to see the company. There was no one in sight. They’d fled. She would never catch them. In her condition she might not even reach the amphitheater. Where could she go?

  Something screamed upstairs, and she knew that it was some thing, a creature out of the void. No human throat could have formed that wailing screech, no human mouth shaped it into such an ululating cry. They must still be coming through the Wall!

  The night was punctuated by a series of thuds that shook the building and made the metal gate rattle. It could have been one monstrous creature battering another against the walls. The scream sounded again.

  “To me!” came a feeble shout from above. That was Rulke, crying for his remaining Ghâshâd.

  Karan began to go down the steps, then stopped, smelling blood. There was a body beside her, all broken, mangled and partly eaten. Llian? No, it was a tall soldier. “Llian,” she shouted. “where are you?” Just to think of him out here hurt her. She could not sense him at all. Karan tried to renew the link but instantly felt Rulke’s presence on the edge of her mind.

  As she began to creep down, across in the amphitheater a flare illuminated a flying, thranx-like shadow. Her courage failed her. Karan turned back up the steps, and the bloody moon touched a pair of the creatures between her and the doors of Carcharon.

  She stood there for a full minute before realizing, from their unnatural stillness, that they were also statues. An awful scream echoed across the ravine. Perhaps it was the injured lorrsk. Karan ran in through the doors and bolted them behind her.

  Where could she go? The cold outside was terrible, as bad as the night she and Llian had almost frozen to death on the way to Shazmak last winter. Karan knew how to survive in the mountains, but she must be prepared. She had to disappear. Where? There was nowhere to hide on the ridge path. She heard footsteps on the stairs. Racing down the back, she ducked into a dark room next to the galley. It smelled like a larder. There was only one way to go now—up the mountain!

  Karan felt around, finding something long and bony that reeked of smoked fish or eel. The smell was unpleasant but it was better than nothing. She scooped up several lengths, along with a cheese shaped like a breadstick, a string of onions, another that seemed to be giant radishes, and some dried fruit, hurled the lot into her pack and turned to run.

  There was another cry from upstairs, then a bellow of rage and shouting in a language she did not know. It sounded as if Rulke was recovering. Boots scraped on the stone. The door out into the yard banged. She pressed back against the pantry wall as several Ghâshâd ran past. They too headed up the stairs.

  Karan ran out into the yard, pulling on her overgloves. It was so cold! The wind was a blast, a gale of roaring snow that made it impossible to see. Where could she go? She tried to recall the layout of the yard. She’d looked down on it many times in the past week, but what she’d seen fitted poorly with the blizzard-struck geography she was confronted by now.

  There were several places where she might get onto the wall. One was up the back of the yard, a steep stair beside lean-to sheds. She felt her way across, conscious that there was a cistern here somewhere and if she fell in she would go straight through the ice and be dead in a minute.

  In the dark her progress was painfully slow. Behind her came a Boom! The wind crushed it into insignificance, but immediately a column of light lit up the tower, the embrasures flaring yellow. Karan jumped and cracked her knee against stone. She put out her hands to steady herself. It was the cistern; she could feel the smooth convexity of the rim. The stairs must be to her right.

  They could not have seen her. Not even that light could have picked her out in the snowfall, but she was frightened, ill and becoming flustered. Hobbling around the edge of the cistern, Karan tripped over something in the dark. The fall jarred the wrist she had broken last year and the food spilled out of her pack—she’d forgotten to tie the flaps. She felt around in the snow, stuffing what she could find back in, but it might have been stones for all she could tell. There came a cry from behind her, an answering cry to one side. They were searching the yard.

  Forget the food! Even in this weather she couldn’t hide here. Rulke would be able to sense her, so close had their minds been. Lights moved toward the cistern. She groped along the wall, the pain in her knee and wrist forgotten.

  Karan found the steps with her shin, then heard, even above the shriek of the wind, the sound of heavy feet running along the top of the wall. The cries came from several places now but the feet stopped directly above. She cursed; they were cutting off the exits from the yard. She fumbled around on the ground for a stone, crept halfway up the stairs and heaved it to her right. It clattered against one of the sheds. Almost immediately a flare erupted over that way. She heard the Ghâshâd calling but could not tell where they were.

  Karan went up the stairs as fast as snow, ice and darkness would allow, but at the top heard Rulke’s voice, an angry shout, and the footsteps came running back. She felt the force of his will too, exhausting and confusing her. She crouched at the top of the wall. The footsteps were close—another flare and they would have her. She rolled over and the guard caught a foot on her hip and went sprawling. Metal clattered on stone. A woman’s voice swore in pain. Karan kept rolling and suddenly there was nothing beneath her. She fell silently into darkness.

  It was a long way down, eight or ten spans. She landed whoomph in the powdery snow of the deep drift below the wall. The snow fell back on her head. Her first impression was that it was much warmer than she had expected. The next, that she could easily suffocate. Karan packed the loose snow away from her nose and mouth and pushed her arm up to make an air hole. Then she lay back for a few minutes’ rest, lest illness overcome her completely.

  Muffled shouting came from above, and th
e dull flash of flares, but they moved away. In darkness it was too far down to see the slight impression, almost closed over, that she had made in the snow. The search moved back inside the yard, though Karan knew this fortunate state of affairs could not last.

  Climbing out was exhausting, and walking through the drifts almost impossible. Karan, who had hiked in these mountains since the time she could walk, understood that very well. She was above the steepest slope of the deep valley between Carcharon and the adjoining ridge, the ridge up which wound the eastern way leading eventually to Shazmak, the path her father had come down just before he died. She could still remember the day they brought his body back.

  Enough of that! She had to get well away before looking for a place to hide. The only sensible way out of this wilderness was down, but that risked sheer falls of hundreds of spans into the rocky bottom of the gorge. They would expect her to head east down the ridge, toward the hard snow, the path and Gothryme Forest.

  Perhaps they were already hunting down there. Certainly they would be in the morning, and they would find her easily enough once the blizzard let up. Karan turned in the other direction, up the ridge.

  There was no protection from the wind on this side. It was wild and gusty, occasionally dropping to nothing so that the flakes settled, then rising again to a shrieking blast that plastered hard pellets of snow to the side of her hood. The snow was piled against the wall of Carcharon in drifts higher than her head, though on the very edge of the precipice the ledge had been scoured bare. Karan picked her way carefully along the rim. She recalled that the wall ran west up the ridge for a few hundred paces before looping back down the other side. Beyond, the ridge went up and up, to become a spur of the mountains.

  Up there she would have plenty of warning of their coming. Karan followed the bare rock on hands and knees, feeling every step of the way ahead, afraid that the ledge would run out and leave her nowhere to go.