The Way Between the Worlds

by Ian Irvine

  A bookshelf toppled behind him, sending a whoomph of fire licking at his trouser leg. The room was full of smoke. Flames leapt up between him and the door. He ran back and forth but could not find the way out. Everyone else had fled and he was trapped.

  He was going to burn to death with the library. The teller in him appreciated the irony.

  Llian sprang up on the table among the papers now burnt to ash, trying to see a way out. The smoke and heat were worse up here. Another bookshelf crashed down, the flare singeing most of his hair off. He smacked it out and sat down on the table, cradling his precious journals to his chest.

  “Llian!” It was Shand’s voice. Another voice called his name, Lilis. Llian could not see either of them.

  “Here!” he screamed hoarsely. His throat hurt.

  “Llian, where are you?”

  He shouted and kept shouting, and eventually Shand, crawling along the floor, found him. “You fool, get down!”

  Llian found that the air was better at floor level, though he could see nothing. “How do we get back out?”

  “Lilis is by the door,” Shand shouted above the roar of the flames. “Lilis?”

  “Here,” came her voice.

  “Hold my hand, Llian.” Crawling along, they eventually found the door, and Lilis, and safety.

  “So,” Shand said, supporting Llian on his shoulder, for he was choking. A silent Lilis gave him her shoulder too. “The villain is unmasked at last. We will find more evil afoot before the day is out. Come on!”

  At the door Llian looked back. The heat hurt his eyes, but the burning library hurt much more. “This is all my fault!” he said, and would have wept but that the fire dried up his tears as they formed. “I pushed him to see what would happen. This is the result. Why did I not keep to my books and leave the intrigue to others?”

  “Why indeed?” said Shand. “But at least we know.”

  Gripping his journals tightly, Llian closed the door behind him for the last time.

  Already the halls were clotted with servants and retainers, running this way and that, hugging things too precious to leave, or treasures they might as well have if everything else was to be destroyed. A few servants dashed toward the library carrying buckets, but when they saw the size of the fire they dropped their pails and ran back again. By the time Shand and Llian pushed down the choked stairs to the main level, the ceilings were scorching.

  They reached the great hall. Yggur was there, standing tall, calming the panic, dispatching guards up to the higher floors to rouse the sleepers and down to the dungeons to get the prisoners out. He did not try to take from the avaricious the treasures they had pilfered.

  “What does it matter now? Better that anyone have them than they be destroyed, and no doubt they will be stolen again before the night is out.”

  The citadel was doomed, though most of the people from the upper floors were led to safety. Those that remained could not be saved, unless they chose to leap, for now the fire was licking even into the Great Hall. They raced outside, getting well clear, and shortly the great dome sagged, copper running in rivers, and crashed down into the ruin. They turned up the hill to Yggur’s stronghold and the workshop where the flute was held.

  “By the way, Shand,” Yggur said, smiling fiercely, “don’t ever play at cards with Llian.” He took the folded piece of parchment out of his shirt.

  Shand scanned it and burst out laughing. “An inventory of a carpet warehouse! You devil, Llian! It’s lucky you were right, or not all of us together could have saved you.”

  Before they reached the fortress two of the Aachim guard came running down, shouting incoherently. One, a muscle-bound man, had a curtain of blood down his face from a gash on the temple.

  “The golden flute is gone!” they cried together. “Mendark came upon us like a storm, blasted down your guards and ours, and got away with the flute.”

  “I didn’t think, somehow, that he was going to commit suicide,” Yggur said. “Where has he gone, Stentex?” he asked the Aachim with the bloody face.

  “No one knows!”

  Tensor appeared behind them. He looked shattered. “Well, Tensor!” said Shand. “Whose side are you on now?”

  “Not ours!” Yggur said. “We don’t want you!”

  “Will you join with us in this chase?” asked Shand, ignoring Yggur. “Or do we fight each other all the way?”

  Tensor took a long time to answer. “We will not oppose you, until we catch him. After that, the flute goes to the strongest, and I fervently hope that is us.”

  “Your word on it, Tensor?”

  Tensor offered his hand. “My word.” His voice was barely audible.

  Like a whirlwind they made themselves ready for pursuit. Llian was clothed in new gear from the stores, for his shabby clothes were ruined. Still, a couple of hours had gone by before they uncovered Mendark’s tracks and were ready to go after him. A message came from the west gate that he had ridden through like the wind and disappeared down the Tuldis road in the direction of Bannador, leading a string of horses.

  “He has a lead of two hours and the best horses in Thurkad,” said Yggur. “Unless he breaks a leg we won’t catch him. Where has he gone? Why didn’t he use the flute to make a gate?”

  Shand had the answer. “Because Maigraith’s departure has so warped reality here that it’s no longer possible to make a gate; not even with the flute.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I know! Now, at what place might a gate still be made when all others have failed? Karan’s mad ancestor Basunez located it precisely. Carcharon!”

  They rode like fury all day and through the night, stopping before dawn for a few hours’ rest and to get fresh horses. At sunrise they continued. The company comprised Yggur, his timid little adjutant Dolodha, Vartila and another Whelm. Shand was there too, with Llian, a shocked and silent Tallia, Lilis, Jevi and Osseion, equally moody. Tensor rode awkwardly beside Malien, with four Aachim. Tensor forced himself, though every jolting stride was a torment. Malien’s eyes were sick with fear and failure. The other Aachim were to follow. Nadiril had been informed but was not well enough to go on this hunt.

  They rode through the day, changing horses again at midday. In the afternoon they came on a tall black horse, dead in the slush on the road; ridden to death. Tallia looked down at the great beast, and then away up the road.

  “I might have done the same if the need was dire enough,” she said, but Llian could tell by the set of her mouth how she felt about it.

  Shand swung down to feel the beast’s muzzle. “It’s still warm; can’t have been dead an hour. We’re gaining.” He hobbled back, grimacing. The hard riding had chafed the skin off his thighs.

  They rode on and on.

  The following night they arrived at Gothryme, stopping only long enough to give Rachis the news. Mendark had been through less than an hour ago, they learned, riding past at great speed without a hallo.

  They reached the bottom of the cliff. Another beautiful black horse stood in the moonlight, its flanks covered in foam. It was quietly cropping the gray grass. They left their own with him and started up.

  They made no ground on the way up the cliff, Mendark proving to be remarkably fit. “The people who helped renew his body have a lot to answer for,” said Yggur, with a cold stare at Tallia.

  She did not reply.

  “I’ve got to stop for a rest, no matter what,” gasped Shand when they were halfway up. The sun was rising. “We’re too slow. Send someone ahead. Someone quick, and powerful enough to match him.”

  “I’ll go,” Tallia whispered. Mendark had betrayed everything she stood for.

  “And I with you,” said Jevi. They had ridden stirrup to stirrup for the past day and a half.

  “And I,” said Malien.

  “I’ll come too,” said Osseion. “I have repudiated my oath.”

  At the top of the cliff the four hurried on, walking quickly at first, then breaking into a jog, then wa
lking some more, jogging some more. Even so, they came out of Gothryme Forest in the afternoon to see that Mendark, in the distance, was halfway up the ridge to Carcharon.

  Now they ran. Mendark began to jog but even his youthful body could not keep it up. It grew dark. The moon came out, a horned crescent. It was slow work here, the slope being icy. By the end of the long race they were but ten minutes behind and closing the gap. Tallia and Jevi were well ahead of the other two when they reached the steps. Mendark was silhouetted at the crest of the knotted buttress of rock, pointing down, then he disappeared over the top.

  They had to climb the last pitch cautiously, for Mendark’s blast had melted the snow and the steps were now icy. The last hundred paces were agonizingly slow. At the top they sprinted across the amphitheater but the race was already lost. Mendark was just going through the open door of Carcharon.

  On they ran, down the dip and up the steep stairs to the front door of Carcharon. Past leering gargoyles, in through the doors, up the broken staircase, leaping over rubble and mounds of ice, up and up. Tallia and Jevi emerged together, gasping the inadequate air, at the very top of the tower.

  Mendark stood in the construct-shaped depression in the floor. He had aged more, looking middle-aged now. He had the flute to his lips. The first strange, haunting notes emerged. Tallia put out her hand.

  “No, Mendark…” she pleaded.

  Mendark blew the tune in a higher key. They heard a frightful din as though the stones of the wall gnashed themselves together. Half a hundred tormented ghosts wisped out of the rock, Basunez among them. On even his angry face there was a look of horror. Then they vanished into smoke as the walls of Carcharon wobbled like custard. Jevi hurled himself at Mendark but was too late. When the distorting glass that was the space between them cleared again, the Magister was gone.

  38

  ECSTASY AND AGONY

  Maigraith remained in her prison chamber in Shazmak, on parole. She was well fed and comfortable, but afraid. Afraid of Rulke, who came frequently, pressing her to ally with him, but overpoweringly drawn to him too. She wanted to help him, to be his mate, to share his bed. The unfamiliar urges frightened her. And she was afraid for Karan, who would certainly follow her here. Whatever choice she made the consequences would be ill.

  Maigraith could have broken out, even with the Ghâshâd guarding her, but she had no idea what to do after that. If Rulke was telling the truth, what she knew about him must be a lie. Even so, his plans endangered the whole world, and Faelamor was a greater danger. But if she, Maigraith, did nothing, or if she tried and failed, that might be worse yet. So she festered, and fretted about Karan, and burned for Rulke as the hours passed.

  That afternoon he came yet again. This time he looked uncertain. Then, to her astonishment, he went down on his knees before her.

  “Maigraith,” he sighed, taking her hand. “I am struck dumb by you. We would make a perfect partnership. But I can’t find the words to say what I want to say to you.” He rested his bearded cheek on her knee.

  The transformation made Maigraith hideously uncomfortable, for all that she was troubled by similar yearnings. This was not Rulke. It could not be!

  “You must have had a thousand lovers,” she said.

  “I have coupled some,” he admitted, “but I have only loved once since I came to your world. Even that was an uneven match, and a tragic loss.”

  “Tell me!”

  “When Alcifer was complete, I wanted to populate it with children of my own species. Who was I to mate with? Yalkara was the only Charon woman on Santhenar, but that match was impossible. Not even to ensure the survival of our species would she pair with me. My only option was one of the halfCharon, blendings of Charon and Aachim that we brought here with us. That would be better than nothing, but I wanted my children to be full Charon. How could that be done? I wrestled with various sordid schemes. Once in my desperation I even thought to strip the eggs out of Yalkara, fertilize them with my own seed, and put them in one of the blending women. Shameful thought. I could not do it!

  “I mated the blendings as a farmer might breed goats to bring out a particular strain. The result of those unions looked like true Charon but I knew they were not. I tried to punch a hole through the Forbidding and bring a mate from Aachan, but that failed too. Then I became captivated by one of my blendings.

  “It was an unequal match, for I was age-old while she was barely nubile. Nonetheless, we were betrothed and she was ready to march into Alcifer and take her place on the throne beside mine. But it was never to be. The corrupt Council used her as the bait in a trap for me—their so-called Proscribed Experiments. Though I did everything I was capable of, I could not save her, nor in the end myself. She went to a cruel and pointless death, and I into the Nightland.”

  He spoke truth, her very soul knew it. Rulke had been greatly wronged. She looked into his eyes.

  “So, what are your plans, Maigraith?”

  “I have none. But I must know what you plan, if I am to consider allying with you.”

  “Have you heard the tale I told Llian in Carcharon? How we were treacherously cast into the void, and came out of it on the very brink of extinction? How a mere hundred of us took Aachan, to give us the chance to regenerate our species?”

  “I heard the tale and was moved by it,” she said.

  He jumped up, to pace restlessly backward and forwards. Then he sat down again and took her hand. “Maigraith, I am going to trust you with the very fate of our species. This is the terrible truth: do you know how many Charon there are?”

  “I imagine that you are legion by now, in Aachan.”

  “But we could not flourish in Aachan!” he raged. “We have never been fecund, like humans and Faellem, or even the Aachim species. Aachan was somehow hostile to us. We are less than a hundred now, and most are age-old.

  “We are so few! Our hope became our nightmare—our sanctuary our prison. That’s why we had to come to Santhenar. We had to get off Aachan to a world where we could increase. That’s why I had the flute made in the first place. A perilous labor, but worth the risk if it could open the Way between the Worlds and free us from Aachan.”

  “But Shuthdar stole the flute,” she said.

  “And began the agony that still wracks us to this day. The Forbidding trapped us here—Yalkara, Kandor and I. Not enough to begin our species anew, even were Yalkara and I not mortal enemies.”

  “Why so?”

  “An ancient feud between our families, which I will not go into. Anyway, as we were trapped here, the rest of the Charon were trapped on Aachan, slowly losing their potency, growing ever more desperate. Everything I’ve done since I came to Santhenar—every single thing!—had but one objective: to break through the Forbidding and bring the rest of my species here. To multiply before it was too late. To save my kind from extinction.”

  “That is not how the Histories tell it.”

  “Of course not! Every dictator, every tyrant needs an enemy to distract attention from his own shortcomings, and I made the perfect enemy. But enough of that. If you have no plans, at least tell me what your objective is.”

  “My destiny is to restore the balance between the worlds that Shuthdar broke, though I don’t know how.”

  He leapt to his feet. “Then we are utterly opposed!” His fists were clenched into knuckled balls the size of grapefruit.

  “Can we not work together?”

  “To restore the balance necessarily means the end of the Forbidding. I might never find the Way then.”

  “But to breach the Forbidding is a terrible risk,” said Maigraith.

  “I have done it. I know how.”

  “And it was a disaster.”

  “A tiny flaw in the construct, remedied now. I’ve worked on my own weaknesses too. Maigraith, with the Forbidding gone I might never find Aachan again. Everything is so changed now, you see. I cannot take the risk. We Charon stand on a precipice, and only I can save us. Once I have brought them here i
t will be a different matter. I will gladly help you then.”

  “I don’t dare to take that risk,” said Maigraith. “The Mirror tells me that the whole void could swarm into Santhenar. That will be the end of old human kind.”

  “The Mirror lies!” he said furiously. “It is an Aachim thing, always trying to frustrate our ends.”

  “Not to me!” she replied, unshaken.

  “Even to you!”

  “Well, I am resolute.” She stood up, her chin lifted, her back very straight. She looked him in the eye. “Neither can I yield.”

  The moment was drawn out. Then Rulke said, “I cannot allow you to thwart me. The future of my species is at stake.”

  “And my world! I am only one-quarter Charon, remember!”

  “But it is quite dominant. You are more Charon than anything else.”

  “I am triune. The Three Worlds are my mother and my father, the four human species my children. How can I buy your future at the expense of another’s?”

  “This is torment!” cried Rulke “But if you will force me to the choice, I must put my own species first—no matter what my feelings toward you.”

  “What can you possibly feel toward me? You’ve only known me two days.”

  “I’ve been waiting for you for twice a thousand years. You have shown me an opportunity that none of us has ever had before.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and she was. So terribly, terribly sorry.

  “Then we must do battle.” Rulke whirled and went out.

  “And you will certainly defeat me,” she said to herself, “for in my heart I don’t want to fight you, and for all my words I can’t impose my will on you.”

  A few minutes later he rushed back in. “Show it to me!”

  Very tentatively Maigraith brought out the Mirror. “Sit beside me,” he said. “Show me what it showed you.”

  She did so.

  “And the message from Yalkara?”

  That was harder, because it was a private treasure that she did not want to share with anyone. But then, Rulke was Charon too. She found Yalkara’s message. Again there was that disconcerting gap in the middle. “See,” she said. “It must be because I have not enough Charon blood in me.”