The Way Between the Worlds

by Ian Irvine

  “Then give it up. What can he do to you?”

  “He can destroy me. He is very powerful still. A word from Mendark can ensure that no one will ever hire me as a chronicler. But that’s not what’s stopping me…” his voice trailed off. He stared into the fire. She took his hand.

  “What, Llian? Are you afraid of something?”

  “No. The Histories behind the tale, what really happened at the time of the Proscribed Experiments—it’s tantalizing. I feel as if I’m on the verge of uncovering something really interesting.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know!” he cried, frustrated. “That’s why I can’t give it up.”

  A week had gone by since Karan’s return. She was chafing to get back to Gothryme.

  “They won’t let you go,” said Llian. “The guards on the gates will be watching for you.”

  “I’ve got to! I can’t bear to be away from home any longer. Are you coming?”

  “Let’s go down and see.”

  They packed and went to an obscure western gate of Thurkad. Karan had concealed her hair and pulled her hood well down over her face. The solitary guard, a kindly-looking old woman with not a hair left on her head and ears as saggy as a bloodhound’s, did not even ask for her papers.

  “Go back, Karan of Bannador. It is not worth my old head to let you through.”

  Karan turned away, angry and embarrassed. “Let’s go down to the waterfront. We’ll buy passage out by ship.”

  “With what? I have two coppers. How much have you got?”

  “A silver tar only,” she said, examining the well-known contents of her pockets.

  “It’s no use, Karan. If we go home they’ll just come and take you back. And how can we live anywhere else with no money?”

  “Why won’t they let me live my life?” she wept.

  That afternoon Karan decided that there was only one thing to do—beard the Magister in his office. To her surprise she was admitted instantly. He looked up at her from behind his vast ebony table.

  “What do you require of me?” she asked. “Why can’t I go home?”

  Mendark’s mouth was so thin and hard and blue and cold that Karan grew afraid. “Because you collaborated with Rulke, and there has not yet been an accounting. When Yggur and Shand return, you may be put to trial. Or… maybe your debt can be paid with a suitable service, triune!”

  He smiled with his horrible lips but Karan felt cold inside. Everyone wanted to use her, just like it had been before. It was the curse of the triune. She could never escape from her heritage.

  23

  The Paradox of the Mirror

  Llian had spent the whole week in a fruitless search for records made at the time Rulke was captured. However he could find none except those Mendark had already given him, written by the Magister himself. It was strange, since the Council kept the Histories most diligently.

  Llian knew that Yggur had no memory of the incident, but surely the other members of the Council would have kept records, in this land obsessed with the Histories. He went through the lists again. The other Council members from that time had died long ago. In fact, he discovered, though young, all but Tensor had died within a year of the Experiments. Curious!

  He spoke to Mendark’s chief archivist but found her unhelpful, and previous interrogation of Mendark did not encourage him to do it again. Yggur had still not returned. There was only one other person who might know. Llian headed down the road to Nadiril’s villa, a large square building set in its own grounds. It had a colonnaded front and a wide hall tiled in red marble.

  Nadiril had not perfectly recovered from his chest complaint. The old librarian was sitting up in bed, his hands spread limply on the scarlet quilt. He looked asleep but his rheumy eyes opened at once.

  “How are you, sir?” asked Llian respectfully.

  “Better,” he wheezed. “I may get up today. It’s good of you to take the time, Llian. I’m a dull old man these days.”

  Llian murmured a politeness.

  “But you didn’t come here because you were worried about my health. You want something from me. What is it?”

  Llian told him.

  “Well, of course they would have written down what happened!” said Nadiril. “Every member of the Council kept the Histories, as we still do.”

  “There’s only one record—Mendark’s! No others are even listed in the catalogues.”

  “Hmn!” Nadiril developed a spark in his eye. “A challenge! I’m sure there’s a simple explanation, but you don’t want to ask Mendark, eh? Pull that cord for me and we’ll breakfast together, then I’ll see how I feel.”

  Llian had already eaten a frugal breakfast but he had the most pleasant memories of Nadiril’s hospitality and was not disappointed. Afterwards they took a sedan chair up the hill to the citadel and were waved straight through the gates by the guards.

  “Give me your arm,” Nadiril said as they dismounted at a side door. He creaked his way down to the archives.

  The archivist could refuse him nothing, since Nadiril was a member of the Council. He soon found, however, that Llian was correct—there were no other Council documents relating to the time of the Proscribed Experiments.

  “You once said that dangerous documents were kept in a special place,” said Llian.

  Nadiril gave him a piercing glance. “So they are—the vault Yggur caught you in some time ago—but not even those records would describe the Experiments. Nonetheless, I’ll check. You cannot come with me,” he said as Llian rose. “Go through the administrative files from that time. There may be shipping records, transmittal notes or bills of lading specifying documents that were sent here. Check everything.”

  Llian did not see Nadiril again that day, but working into the evening he did find something of interest. He told Nadiril about it the next morning, over breakfast. The librarian was poorly, confined to bed, while Lilis hovered about looking anxious and giving Llian reproachful glares.

  “Have a look at this. It had fallen down the back of an old file of shipping documents,” Llian said. He passed the scrap of paper across. “It’s a receipt from a woman named Uivan, for documents provided to Mendark after the death of her sister Nivan.”

  “Nivan was one of the seven Council members at the time,” Nadiril said. He read the paper. “It lists the documents supplied. One of them is entitled My Histories of the Experiment and the Taking of Rulke. And the receipt is cross-signed here—the documents were received safe and complete at the citadel.”

  “But that’s it!” said Llian, very frustrated. “There’s no mention of them anywhere!”

  “Nor in the secret archives,” said Nadiril. “Unusual! But things can get lost in all sorts of ways in a thousand years. I’m too tired, Llian. You’d better come back tomorrow.”

  Nadiril closed his eyes and Lilis shooed Llian out. At the door Llian took her arm. “How are Tallia and Jevi getting on?”

  “Not very well. When Tallia came back everything seemed wonderful. Jevi was so happy to see her, then it all went wrong.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know what she said to him, but he went all cold and silent. I asked him what the matter was. He wouldn’t tell me. I tried to tell him that Tallia loved him but he became angry. It was terrible, Llian. Jevi has never been angry with me in my whole life. Even when I was little, and naughty, he was always patient and kind. Now he’s gone away with Pender. I don’t know what to do. Poor Tallia, she looks awful.”

  “I don’t know either,” said Llian. “Better leave it to them.”

  The next day Karan and Llian were strolling arm-in-arm past the citadel to a cheap breakfast place when they caught sight of Yggur’s head above the crowd.

  “I wonder where he’s been?” said Llian.

  “Who cares?” Karan dragged at his hand. “Come on, I’m hungry.”

  “Hang on, there may be news.” He stood his ground and the crowd parted. “Hey, there’s Shand too. Who’s the wom
an with him?”

  “It’s Maigraith!” said Karan, feeling old conflicts rise to the surface. Maigraith had dragged her into this mess in the first place. But at the same time they had traveled together, shared perils together, been linked together. Karan had seen the torment in Maigraith’s innermost soul. And Maigraith had led an army into Bannador, liberating Karan’s country in her name. After that, Karan could forgive her anything.

  “Maigraith,” she shouted. “Shand!”

  The three turned at her cries. “Karan!” cried Maigraith and Shand at the same time. “How did you get here?”

  Karan explained. “Where have you been?”

  Maigraith answered. “After the war in Bannador, Faelamor compelled me to go with her to Elludore Forest. I’ve been there since autumn, except for two trips to Havissard through a gate, and one or two other excursions.”

  “Havissard!” cried Llian. “You must tell me everything about it, for my tale.”

  “This is Llian, a teller,” said Karan, being deliberately casual.

  Maigraith inspected him minutely. “I’ve seen you before. It was in Narne, about a year ago. I’m glad you found Karan.” She shook Llian’s hand. “Karan, you cannot imagine what has happened—I have found my life. Shand is my grandfather!” She looked as happy as a child.

  “Llian told me that,” said Karan. “Now tell me—”

  “I see you’ve a lot to catch up on,” said Yggur, shepherding them out of the middle of the street to let an overloaded wagon go by. “Why don’t you take breakfast together at my expense?”

  He tossed a gold coin at Karan, who would have flung it straight back again but Llian caught it first.

  “You won’t join us?” Shand said to Yggur.

  “This is your party. I’ve neglected my responsibilities too long already. We’ll hold council tomorrow at nine. Don’t be late!” He tipped his hat to them and strode off up the hill, with the guards who had followed him from the gate gathered round.

  “I have hurt him,” said Maigraith, staring after his back.

  Next morning they met at Yggur’s fortress, in a small room on the ground floor. As Mendark’s apartment was of baroque extravagance, so Yggur’s rooms were positively spartan. The chamber had an uncovered floor of wide boards, bare walls painted an ugly mud-brown and a long table with hard wooden chairs. The fireplace was set but not lit. The room was saturated with cold and damp. The meeting consisted of Yggur, Mendark and Tallia, Nadiril in a wheeled chair, and Shand. The Aachim were still over the sea.

  Karan and Llian came in late, sharing a joke. Yggur, already on his feet, scowled at them. “I have called this meeting,” he began, “to review what has happened since Carcharon and to see if we can find any new ways to attack our enemies. I propose that we each tell our own tale—briefly, mind!—and then see what we can come up with.”

  “Seize Faelamor’s gold and make the golden flute anew,” said Mendark curtly.

  “I like that idea even less than the last time you suggested it,” Yggur replied.

  “I agree with Mendark,” said Shand, a wistful look in his eye.

  There was a stir when Maigraith rose, last of all. Yggur was staring at her, a lost futile yearning, for Maigraith did not once look at him. She gazed at Shand, at Karan, but mostly out of the window at the roofs of the city. Yggur burns for her, Llian realized, and she won’t have him.

  “We’ve all been wrestling with the paradox of the Mirror,” said Yggur. “It can only be used by one who knows how, but that way lies within the Mirror. Does anyone know what that means?”

  No one answered.

  “I’ve been wondering if the glyphs around the border of the Mirror have anything to do with it,” said Mendark. “We know Yalkara put them there just before she went to Aachan.”

  Shand jumped.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Mendark demanded.

  “Yalkara said something about that,” said Shand.

  “What?” cried Mendark. “What did she say?”

  “The wind was howling through the gate. I couldn’t hear her clearly.”

  “Well, see if you can work it out!” Mendark snapped. “It might be the key.”

  “I’ve been thinking about the paradox for ages,” said Llian. “Actually, the answer is obvious.” He gazed around the room, assuming a look of beatific simplicity.

  Everyone stared at him. Mendark was the first to break. “Then what is it?” he said furiously. He had spent weeks puzzling over the paradox, without success.

  Llian smiled, paused for effect, then said, “The Mirror knows! It was surely set to recognize Aeolior and show her how to use it.”

  “Aeolior is dead, you cretin!” raged Mendark.

  “Ah, but I think it will open to Maigraith—”

  “I’m sure it began to,” Karan interrupted, “way back when she first looked at it in Fiz Gorgo. I thought it strange at the time.”

  “Do you have something to say, Shand?” asked Yggur.

  Shand, still scratching at that memory, took a long time to answer. “The ignorant have talked for long enough. Let Maigraith speak, if she cares to.”

  “Yes, Maigraith, take up your birthright!” said Mendark, as imperiously as if he was giving orders to a slave. “Find what we need in it! Time is pressing.”

  Maigraith darted a glance at Mendark, then away quickly. “His arrogance reminds me of Faelamor,” she said softly to Shand. “I’m not going back to that.”

  Shand squeezed her hand. “I expected to be doing this two hundred and fifty years ago,” he said to the group. “But after Aeolior…” He eased the Mirror out of its case. A little tremor ran through him. Without looking at it, he put the tight coil of black metal in Maigraith’s hand. The bright lights glinted on it, reflections shimmering down its length and back again.

  “The first time I touched the Mirror, back in Fiz Gorgo,” said Maigraith, “I felt such a fascination and a yearning, as if a whole lost world was about to open before me. Maybe it would have, if Yggur had not appeared.” Her eyes met Yggur’s and darted away. “I felt it calling to me then. And in Havissard I heard that call again.”

  Abruptly, impatiently, she opened her hand and the coil of dark metal snapped into… the Mirror! It reflected her face perfectly; the silky, chestnut hair that hung, quite straight, halfway down her back; the beautiful regularity of her features; the skin that was the color of honey and just as smooth; the Charon eyes, indigo crossed with carmine. Only one thing was different from the first time. Then she had been downcast, and her face had shown it. Now she looked alive.

  “Llian,” said Mendark peremptorily. “Copy down those glyphs. That’s another matter you can work on.”

  They watched in silence as Llian copied the glyphs on a piece of card, checked them twice and passed the Mirror back.

  “I don’t know the script,” he said, “though—”

  “What?”

  “It’s strangely like… Yes!” he hissed. “They’re the mirror image of the glyphs in Yalkara’s book.”

  “I wonder what that can mean?” said Shand.

  Maigraith stared at the Mirror without seeing it. She was thinking about Yalkara, her mother’s mother. How often had Yalkara held it in her hands, using it for what purposes no one on Santhenar, probably not even Shand, ever knew? Had she wondered what her unborn daughter would be like? Had she wished that the Mirror could give her a glimpse of Aeolior’s future? Surely it had not.

  There was so much Maigraith wanted to know. Faelamor had taught her nothing about Yalkara, her own great enemy. And even on their journey here, Shand had scarcely spoken about her. Unraveling the past could occupy her for the rest of her life. It was part of a great mystery, one to which no one knew the answer.

  “How am I meant to use the Mirror?”

  “I don’t know,” said Shand. “My way cannot be your way, nor Aeolior’s neither. The wheel has turned and you must reflect the pattern of its turning.”

  Maigraith moved th
e Mirror around in her hands, uncomfortable with these strangers feeding on her so hungrily. Had she just exchanged one tyrannous master for another? They were all staring at her, especially Yggur. All but Shand alone, who was sunk in reverie, and Karan, snuggling her cheek against Llian’s shoulder. She seemed to have her hand inside his shirt. Maigraith smiled inwardly. The others all wanted something from her. But she had not gone though the past year to be mastered again so easily. She would look on the Mirror, see what it had to say, and take her own counsel. No one would tell her what to do, ever again.

  “I can’t think with everyone staring at me so,” she said to Shand.

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Everyone wants something from me. I have to get away. Perhaps somewhere by the sea. Will you come with me, grandfather?” After a life of agonizing about who she was, the word gave her a small, tight feeling of pleasure and contentment. She was someone; she had a past and now a future. She belonged, and was loved for herself.

  “I’ll ask Tallia to find a place,” said Shand. “She knows everything.”

  Shortly Tallia reappeared with an address written on a scrap of paper. Shand took it, then he and Maigraith hurried away from that abode of greedy faces to a place on the eastern side of the city, just inside the Heads.

  They turned off the road to the lighthouse, down a winding, stony track. It was far enough from Thurkad that the city’s stench could not be smelt, even when the wind was blowing from the west, as it was today. The path curved around a patch of wind-twisted scrub and they looked out across the outer harbor, where the blue water was flecked with foam. Waves were breaking across a bar at the entrance. Sails white, yellow and dun-colored moved up and down. They continued down the path and through a gallery forest, just a strip in the bottom of the valley.

  The path wound through the rocks and scrub toward a tiny bay. Another path climbed to the top of the cliff. A gravel beach came into view. Maigraith could have tossed her hat from one end of it to the other. A cottage, barely bigger than Karan’s forest hut, nestled among trees behind the beach. The windows looked across the bay. The view showed trees, water and far-off sails. They took off their packs and sat down on the porch.