The Way Between the Worlds

by Ian Irvine

  “Why did you expel her?” Maigraith asked tentatively. She had often wondered. She thought that it was over the great crime her unknown parents had committed, a secret that Faelamor refused to disclose. The quest for her own background had obsessed Maigraith all her adult life, yet still she did not know who she was or where she had come from.

  “We cast her out over the sin of your mother and you. Since then we have managed our lives quite well without a queen bee. The tale, if you please!”

  Maigraith told the whole story, beginning a year and a half ago when Faelamor had sent her to steal the Mirror from Yggur, and how she, Maigraith, had forced Karan to go with her. Maigraith sipped her yelt as she told her tale, and when the bowl was empty another was put in front of her. So the afternoon passed. Late in the evening she paused, losing her voice, and Gethren prepared dinner. Ellami and Hallal went walking together down by the river. One of them, just a shadow in the firelight, pointed up at the sky. The glowing scorpion nebula was setting, the dark moon past the three-quarters. Only a few days till hythe. The scorpion reminded Maigraith of Rulke. She trembled.

  The two came back and Maigraith continued. The nebula set. The dark moon passed westwards. In the early hours of the morning the wind swung around and snow began to fall. Hallal and Ellami rose as one to fetch larger logs for the fire.

  Dawn came. Maigraith’s voice was cracked and her eyes were red. The tale was almost done. She told them about Faelamor’s gate. “An outrage!” Gethren said. And about the visit to Havissard too. She told them everything except how she felt there and what she found—the silver stylus and the piece of paper bearing the name “Aeolior.”

  They questioned her at length about the gold and the book, but Maigraith knew not why Faelamor had been looking for the former, nor much about the latter either.

  “This gold was Aachan gold, you say?” Ellami was speaking now.

  “So I believe. It had an unpleasant feel, but Faelamor was triumphant after she found it.”

  “It must be Yalkara’s own golden jewelry,” said Gethren, “that was lost after she went through the gate to Aachan. So, she didn’t take it with her after all!”

  “A powerful artifact,” breathed Ellami.

  “Perilous too!” Gethren was the cautious one. “Too perilous for us. Where is it now?”

  “I don’t know,” said Maigraith. “Perhaps in one of our store caves. I’ve not seen it since the day we came back.”

  “Take us there at once!” cried Hallal. “It must be taken apart and scattered across the world so that it can never be used again.”

  They hurried up to the caves, searching everywhere and using their Faellem arts to reveal that which had been hidden. They found no trace of the gold.

  “I don’t like this,” said Ellami. “I fear she will commit a great evil with it.” They headed back to camp.

  “Tomorrow,” said Hallal, “we shall scan the whole valley. It must be found.”

  Gethren made pancakes, poured syrup over them and offered them with another brew, this time coffee so aromatic that it was intoxicating.

  Maigraith concluded her tale. “Rulke is in Carcharon now, and Faelamor has gone to find out why. She is very afraid.”

  “As are we,” said Gethren. “This year will see a transformation, one way or the other. Nothing will ever be the same again.”

  The tale, the confession, had left Maigraith utterly drained. She ate the food, drank the coffee and sat waiting. But their eyes dismissed her, and something akin to pity showed on Ellami’s face once again. She took Maigraith’s hand and led her to her shelter, even knelt down and eased her boots off, and made sure she was well covered with her blankets. Maigraith was more weary than she should have been from a night without sleep.

  She lay for a while, listening to their voices: Gethren’s soft, lilting tones contrasting with Ellami’s harder, rougher and more excitable voice. And over them both, the quiet authority of Hallal, the one who had been rival to Faelamor eons ago, to lead them, and perhaps should have been chosen. Maigraith sensed a tinge of resentment there.

  She could not make out what they were saying, except a phrase here and there of Ellami’s, and a word or two from Hallal. But of Gethren, nothing. She drifted off to sleep.

  Later she woke again, or was woken by loud argument. The snow fell thickly now. The Faellem had an icing of white on their broad felt hats, an epaulet of white on each shoulder.

  “I dread what she is up to,” said Hallal. “She has made a gate! How can we follow someone who commits such crimes?”

  “We must put her down!” cried Ellami heatedly.

  “I’m afraid,” said Gethren. “This will destroy us. I say we abandon her and go back to Mirrilladell.”

  13

  A Bloody Footprint

  Karan wanted to scream, to shriek and kick the snow and beat the rocks with her fists, to have a child’s tantrum, get it out of her system and be better again at the end of it. She could not face being hunted by the Ghâshâd again.

  But she was, and there was nothing to do but do it all over again. She bolted up the steep slope, the pack hammering her back and her heart thudding just as loudly at her sore ribs. She ran until tears of terror froze and gummed her eyelids together, until her breath burned in her side and foam accumulated on her lip and she tasted blood in her mouth.

  Then, as she stumbled up the ridge, Karan saw a bloody print on the ice. She did not stop for an instant, but took it in so clearly that later on she could have drawn it perfectly from memory. Her skin broke out in goosepimples.

  No human footprint this—it was the print of an unshod foot, but a foot more like a hand, with a huge square palm that could have covered her whole face, and long spread toes like clawed fingers. One side of the print was indented and the hollow, from the gouge of the claw all the way down to the heel, was filled with frozen blood so dark as to be almost black. She knew what it was—one of the lorrsk that had attacked Rulke. She scanned the snow and ice as she ran, but there was no sign of it.

  Lorrsk! The hairy, human-shaped creatures that were deadly in their cunning and clever enough to work the construct on sight. Even wounded it would be match for a dozen of her. Karan wondered which one it was. Both had been injured. One had taken a gash in the thigh, while the other had fallen on its backside into that puddle of molten metal on the floor. To end up in the belly of some beast that did not even come from her world was somehow worse than any other fate she could contemplate. She had nothing to defend herself with. She ran on.

  Looking back Karan saw that the Ghâshâd, slow as they were, were gaining on her. The pack was holding her back but she was dead without it. She forced herself harder, but the ridge was steeper here, and icier, and it got her nowhere. Her legs hurt; everything hurt.

  She looked up. The ridge ran up, steep and broken as far as she could see. There was nowhere to hide. They would soon wear her down. Look at them, their bony shanks moving like machines! They never seemed to tire.

  She thought to roll rocks at her hunters but all the rocks were embedded in snow and ice. She imagined a snowball, getting bigger and bigger as it raced down. Unfortunately the soft snow had been swept away by the wind. On she staggered, swaying from side to side in her exhaustion.

  Karan looked down into the gorge. The walls were almost vertical here. It narrowed above to a vertical cleft that might have been made by a single furious hack with an axe. No, more as if the two sides of the gorge had been prised apart, for a swarm of black dykes cut across it at an angle, bridges of resistant rock but all broken in the middle.

  The nearest of the Ghâshâd were almost within bowshot now, not that they carried bows. They bore no weapons. They needed none but their minds, already whispering in hers, terror and despair. Had Rulke given them that power?

  The lanky figure leading them was ominously familiar. Idlis again, her perpetual hunter, her nemesis. Already she knew how his rubbery fingers would feel on her throat—like the grip of a corpse.
Despair began to drain her strength away.

  Above, the cleft narrowed, though it was still wider than the most desperate leap. It was a long way up to where the adjoining ridge joined hers. Not far up the gorge, the broken dykes were plastered with wind-driven snow that sometimes formed an arch of ice spanning the gap, a soaring bridge that looked as strong as steel.

  Karan was not fooled for an instant. Such snow and ice bridges were commonplace here. She knew them well from walking these ridges with her father as a child. They were quite treacherous.

  Karan found herself thinking that it would almost be better to throw herself into the gorge rather than be caught, or even to run across one of the bridges. Better any chance than no chance. The gorge was narrow here, only about ten paces across. It would almost be possible, she told herself, eyeing an arch of ice and snow just above her.

  Never, never, never trust a snow bridge, she heard her father say. He had said that a dozen times, and he had been wise in the mountains. They are made by the mountain sprites to trap unwary travelers. Step on one and you will fall down and be smashed to bits on the rocks, and the sprites will feed on your scraps for a month.

  It was a long time since Karan had believed in mountain sprites, but she knew Galliad had been right. She looked over her shoulder. If she could get past the Ghâshâd there was a slim chance, for on a downhill run her agility would have the advantage over their endurance. But they were spread evenly over the ridge top, and below them she saw another line. No chance! Rulke was determined to have her.

  She looked up, estimating her chances. Nil! The ridge and the ravine continued up forever. What was the point? She stopped above another ice bridge. The snow-covered ridge ran down into a lip on either side that swept out to the gentle arch of ice, a span so narrow in the middle that she could have put her arms around it. It looked strong, but she knew it was like the first ice on a pond—it would not even support a child’s weight. Besides, it would be too slippery to stand on.

  Karan pressed on but the brief rest had sucked all strength from her legs. Her knees wobbled and she fell down on her face. She struggled up again to see that Idlis was close.

  “I can’t go back again,” she gasped.

  “Oh yes!” he burbled. “The Master has a new plan.” He smiled, a grotesque sight.

  “I’ll die first!” said Karan.

  “We won’t let you,” said Idlis, spreading his arms wide and springing at her, stiff-kneed like a walking pair of scissors.

  No point running now. Karan spun around then darted straight at him. Idlis laughed, but just in front of him she skidded sideways on her heel, ducked between him and the next and raced down the hill. The shock of each stride threatened to collapse her knees. The other Ghâshâd moved across to cut her off.

  Karan knew with an awful certainty that she would not get through. “You’ll never get me,” she roared. She saw the ice arch out of the corner of her eye and a mad idea sprang into her head. I’ll sled myself across. It’s the only way. And if I fail, well, it can’t be any worse than going back.

  Body sledding was a dangerous sport that she had achieved a rare mastery of as a child, until one of her friends had fractured her skull and it had been banned by Karan’s furious mother.

  She ran straight for the edge of the ridge and dived over, landing hard on her chest and accelerating down the dip toward the ice arch. I’m going too fast! she thought, trying desperately to line herself up to come out the bottom of the dip along the line of the bridge. Even a slight angle and she would go straight off the edge. Karan shot down the wind-packed snow on her belly, steering with her outstretched arms, leaning to the left. She was still on the wrong angle.

  I’m going to go over! The thought was a scream of terror. Then a little bump appeared in front of her, Karan smacked her hand against it with just enough force to straighten up and shot out of the dip heading along the center line of the bridge. She spread her arms apart, tracking the sides of the arch. Her chin banged on the ice, but as she hit the upcurve of the bridge she felt it crack beneath her—the crack of her doom. She rocketed across, lifting slightly in the air as she passed the crest and the bridge curved down underneath her. She settled back down light as a feather, but the ice cracked again. Karan felt herself sliding off the side, pushed back up, then just as the whole arch fell into the gorge she shot off the bridge and crashed into a mound of snow and rock on the other side.

  Karan felt sure that she was going to slide back down into the chasm, but couldn’t do anything about it. Opening her eyes she found that she was wedged between shattered black rocks. She worked her arms and legs. Nothing seemed to be broken though her arms, thighs, shoulders and breasts throbbed. She felt battered black and blue. There was blood on the snow—her chin was scraped raw.

  She sat up. The Ghâshâd stood in a silent line at the other end of the broken arch.

  “I salute you!” rasped Idlis. “But I will still have you.”

  The Ghâshâd turned like a row of machines and began to jog up the slope. Karan looked up. It would take them hours to reach the place where the two ridges joined, but that did not mean she was safe. If they were able to call to Carcharon, Rulke could reach the bottom of her ridge long before she found safety in the forest.

  “You’ll never have me!” Karan gasped, and staggered off. She did not stop for an hour. Then she rested for just a few minutes and continued until dusk, when she came on the familiar path that led up to Shazmak.

  There she received another shock—Ghâshâd footprints in the snow, three or four of them. The marks were unmistakable, long, narrow and deeply indented, much more so than her own prints. She looked around nervously but the dark was rolling in with the snow and she could not see far enough. Squatting down, she checked the prints in the fading light. Definitely Ghâshâd, for there was the little uptick at the front from their characteristic scissor-walk. They were heading up to Shazmak, under heavy loads.

  What could it signify? Had Rulke gone? Or had the construct been damaged so badly that they had to carry it back in pieces? Or did it mean nothing at all? There was no way of telling.

  She groped her way down in the dark, terrified of running into more of them, and equally terrified that if she stopped to rest Idlis’s band would catch her. Just as dawn was breaking, after a miserable night prey to every fear that she could possibly conjure up, she realized that the slope was growing gentler. There was only half a league of open land between her and the bridge. Across the bridge and into the forest, and down to the cliff path to Gothryme: safety. She crept down to a vantage point where she could see the bridge. Easing her head up, Karan squinted into the distance. Three stick-figures were approaching the bridge from the other side.

  Had they seen her? She doubted it—their eyesight was poor. Ducking over the side of the gorge, which was less steep here, Karan climbed down toward the frozen river. She crossed it without incident, scrambled up the further side among the boulders, over the windswept crest and out of sight. She tried to follow a path where there was no telltale snow, though anyone determined enough could track her. Finally she took to her heels and ran, and did not stop until she reached the glorious shelter of her own Gothryme Forest.

  The previous night a most unhappy creature had smashed apart its snow cave on the ridge above Carcharon and stood up, sniffing the air. It was the lorrsk that had fallen in the puddle of molten metal, and it was in agony. One buttock had been burned away and was now covered in huge black scabs that broke open with every movement, to leak blood and straw-colored fluid onto the ice.

  The lorrsk could barely move for the pain. Every crabwise, lurching step sent shrieks of agony from the back of its heels to the top of its head. The cold seared its bare feet. Hunger gnawed at its guts like a plague of rodents. The lorrsk raised its head higher and the scent of warm flesh came on the wind.

  It crossed the ridge back and forth until it struck the trail of a creature that led back to a snow cave like its own. It knew the s
cent: the small red-haired female that had been in the tower when it first escaped from the void. There were only a couple of meals in it, but it would be sweet, tender flesh. The lorrsk began to track Karan up the mountainside.

  Shortly it came upon another trail, many people this time, eventually following Karan and the Ghâshâd to the broken ice bridge. The lorrsk squatted at the end of the bridge for a long time, measuring the distance. Had it been whole it might have attempted the leap, but realized that it did not need to. It was not a long climb to the place where the two ridges joined. The lorrsk followed the trail of the Ghâshâd up and across onto the adjacent ridge. Here, even through the covering of recent snow it could smell the scent of many travelers. It had found the path to Shazmak and there was fresh meat not far away.

  Everything will be perfect when we get back home, Karan kept thinking. In spite of her situation, she could not stop making plans for her future, for herself and Llian (if he could ever forgive her), and for Gothryme. How to rebuild it, and get free of the burden of debt and tax hanging over it.

  But she was afraid. Afraid to head to the cliff path that was the only way down, therefore surely guarded; afraid to stay here; and afraid that if she somehow did get home, Rulke would come for her anyway. But hiding here availed her nothing, so after a sketchy breakfast she made her careful way through the forest toward the cliff top. As she approached she kept picking up schizophrenic flashes—Hunt! Hunt!—and was sure that she was sensing Ghâshâd.

  Karan crept closer, using all her bushcraft and cunning, then shinnied up an evergreen tree near the edge of the forest. She did not need to go very high. From halfway up she could see that the top of the path was guarded, by at least four of them. There was no other way down.