The Way Between the Worlds

by Ian Irvine

  Rulke was strangely calm. “Out of your instrument I have forged a better—one that will outlast your kind.”

  “Then use it! Go to Aachan, if you have the courage. Defend your people. It will save me the trouble of dealing with you.”

  Rulke hesitated, torn between the Charon and Maigraith, the past and the future. In his mind’s eye, as clearly as if it were shown on the sphere, he saw the remaining Charon torn to pieces by the creatures from the void. Only he could save them. But if he went to Aachan, Faelamor would finish Maigraith and his future would be gone.

  “What am I to do?” he said to Karan, or perhaps to himself. “How can I abandon the Hundred, my life? Or Maigraith, my love and my future?” Smiting the cowl with his fist, he flung the levers over hard. The construct whirled around the little group in a tight circle, so fast that it was no more than a blur. The blood rushed to Karan’s feet; she grew faint. She knew the agony he was going through but there was nothing she could do to help him. Finally he slowed the machine to a crawl. “What do you say, Karan?”

  “I would choose the future, if I was forced to choose. But of course,” she said with a trace of bitterness that she could not overcome, “being triune, I have no future.”

  Rulke squeezed her little hand in his. “Nothing is certain in life,” he said, grounding the construct directly in front of Faelamor. “I choose the future.”

  “Your choice is irrelevant,” said Faelamor. “I cannot allow even one of you to live.” She stroked her fingers across the strings of the nanollet for the last time.

  The Wall faded, churned and the outside layer split into a thousand panes that drifted in the air, casting distorted reflections everywhere. Red smoke wafted out from underneath the construct. A vent the size of Gothryme Manor opened in the Wall but nothing came through it.

  “You did your work too well!” Rulke snapped. He spun a wheel. The construct groaned but did not move. Smoke belched out of it from a dozen places. The light-lens faded. Cursing, he jumped off, sword in hand. Karan slipped down the other side, out of sight of the Faellem.

  Faelamor back-pedaled away from his long sword, moving her hand feebly in the air.

  “Your glamors are useless, this close to it,” he said.

  She backed slowly around the front. Karan held her breath. One more step, she thought. Just take one more step! Faelamor stepped back another step.

  Lashing out with her foot, Karan kicked the nanollet from under Faelamor’s arm. It skidded under the construct. There was an explosion and the sound of rending metal. The construct leapt in the air. When the clouds of magenta smoke cleared Karan saw that one side was torn open, leaving jagged wings of black metal protruding out, and dark complex innards revealed. The machine drifted in slow circles, listing so far sideways that one of the wings screeched on the floor. An oval plate the size of a cartwheel fell off the underside, clanging on the tiles. Inside that cavity something burned like a white-hot furnace.

  Maigraith lay on the floor, concussed by the blast. The construct was still drifting in a circle, heading directly for her.

  “Maigraith!” Karan shouted. “Get out of the way!”

  Maigraith moved feebly. Karan ran and tried to pull her out of the way. She felt so weak. As she heaved, the furnace blast from the inside of the construct passed right over Maigraith’s outflung arm. Her skin blistered like a roasted chicken. Maigraith screamed. Rulke came running up and helped Karan pull her free.

  Maigraith hardly recognized him. Rulke held her face between his huge hands and tried to remove Faelamor’s confusion, but as soon as he let her go she fell down again.

  The construct, circling slowly, passed directly over the fallen nanollet. There was a hiss like steam escaping. The instrument glowed red, blue and violet-black. Then, in an explosion that sent all three flying through the air, it disappeared.

  Karan was hurled backward against the spiraling stairs. There was a sickening crack. She gave a little cry and slid down onto the floor like a boneless carcass. Her legs were at a strange angle. She couldn’t move. The pain was agonizing.

  Rulke, who was unharmed, ran to Karan. “I can never thank you for what you’ve done today,” he said, then froze. “Karan? Are you all right?”

  She was rambling to herself, in a delirium of pain. “All my fault. Llian! Father? Father!”

  Rulke picked her up, her arms and legs dangling like a sick swan. She screamed. He set her down by the construct, which had settled lower, its dimensions seemingly more squat, more menacing. After making her as comfortable as he could, he began ripping the metal skin off the machine, desperately trying to get it going again.

  Llian could see that Karan was terribly injured. He felt an almost irresistible urge to run at the glass and burst it with his head.

  Karan arched her back, her mouth opening in a silent scream. Llian could feel her agony. She was radiating it in a sending that shivered its way up the spines and nerves of everyone in the room. She was dying! She needed him desperately. Tears washed channels down his grimy face.

  He saw Maigraith lurch over to Rulke, who had his construct working again. Rulke stopped the huge hole in the wall down to the size of a hoop. Nothing had come out of it for ages.

  Llian turned an agonized face to Malien and Tallia.

  “I’m sorry, chronicler,” said Malien. “We’ve done everything we can, and it hasn’t worked. “I’ve nothing left in me,” said Yggur listlessly. “Please do something.”

  “Mendark said you’d never amount to anything!” Llian said as cruelly as he could. “Shand?”

  Shand had not noticed. He was still gazing at the place where Yalkara’s image had appeared, oblivious to everything else.

  Llian turned away from the barrier. Wiping the tears off, he smudged the dust into the trail of a comet on his brow. There is always a way, he said to himself. “Tensor!”

  Tensor, sitting on the floor with his head sunk in his lap, did not answer.

  “Tensor!” He shouted in the Aachim’s ear and struck him on the shoulder.

  Tensor raised his head, looking Llian in the eye. “She’s finished, chronicler!” There were tears in his eyes too. “We all are. We won’t see out the day.”

  “Be damned! You owe me a debt and I call on you to pay it.”

  “I owe you a debt, chronicler? I can’t think why.”

  “You kidnapped me, dragged me all the way to Katazza and used me there. You wronged me, yet still I aided you with your gate.”

  Tensor appeared to struggle to recall that time. “I cannot see where the debt is, but after today, what will it matter? Ask your boon, chronicler.”

  “Smash down this barrier. Karan is dying all alone. I’ve got to go to her.”

  Tensor peered through the glass wall and focussed on Karan. “What can I do when everyone else has failed?”

  “Use the potency that you made for the destroying of Rulke.”

  “The destroying of Rulke,” said Tensor wonderingly. “That was my life’s work, once. I don’t think I can get the potency back, chronicler. I am wasted, empty.”

  “Try!” said Llian imperiously. “Remember how you hated Rulke once. Remember all that the Charon have done to your people since they came out of the void.”

  “I was hot with hate once,” Tensor said, shaking his head.

  “Bring that hate out again,” Llian cried recklessly, urging Tensor on with tales of Rulke that he knew were no longer true, lies made up to ensure that the Charon remained the

  y:Jan_200927_01_2009_Xml_KeyingCompare-CompletedmergedThe Way between The worlds_301-331.txt

  Great Enemy. He put every iota of his teller’s voice into it. Nothing mattered any more, except Karan. “Remember the Clysm, remember—”

  “Llian!” Malien called. “This is unwise.”

  “Remember how the Hundred took your world,” Llian shouted. “Remember how Rulke crippled you in Katazza!”

  “I do remember!” Tensor lurched to his feet.

&nbs
p; “And do you remember your potency?” Llian was jumping up and down, shouting and waving his arms. His spittle spattered Tensor’s coat front.

  “I remember that too,” said Tensor, holding up his fist. Wisps of radiance began to rise from it like vapor. He stared at the tenuous strands.

  “And is your potency the equal of this barrier Rulke has put between you and Karan?” Llian said wildly, caught up in the ecstasy of this creature that he was creating. “Look at her, lying there in her agony, bleeding inside.”

  “Enough, Llian,” said Malien, advancing on him. “Shand, help me!” She shook him hard.

  Shand roused from his dreams of Yalkara. “Llian, stop it!”

  “It is the equal of Rulke itself,” said Tensor, standing tall and brandishing his radiant fist.

  “Then smash the barrier down—”

  Tallia whipped her hand across Llian’s mouth. Shand pinioned his hands. They dragged him away. “You bloody fool,” Shand hissed in his face. “I warned you about this after the citadel burned. Do you realize what you could have—”

  He broke off, staring at Tensor, whose upraised fist now glowed as bright as a furnace. “Look at him there,” husked Tensor, “embracing Maigraith while Karan lies dying at his feet. They are my enemies both. My time has come at last.”

  Tensor drew himself up by will alone. He reached for the sky, tottering on his emaciated legs, and his face was alive with hate. Thrusting out his fist, he roared forth his rage. The crystalline barrier shattered to fragments that sparkled in the air then struck the floor with a roar like a waterfall.

  “Beware the thrice betrayed!” Tensor bellowed. He thrust his hand toward Rulke and Maigraith, exactly as he had that night at the Conclave a year ago, when he had destroyed Nelissa and taken back the Mirror.

  Shand and Malien were powerless to stop him. They watched in horror, helpless to prevent the tragedy.

  43

  Liebestod

  Rulke’s head jerked up and he saw his nemesis. He could have escaped, had he cared to leave Maigraith behind, had he fought back. But Maigraith was clinging to him, barely able to stand. He knew Tensor would strike her down as well.

  Rulke swept Maigraith behind him, shielding her with his body. A jet of ruby came from Tensor’s hand and struck Rulke full in the chest. For a moment his great frame seemed to glow. His feet slipped on the floor as he was pushed backward by an irresistible force. Once this potency would have been no more than a flea bite but the day had taken a dreadful toll of him.

  “Help me!” he cried to his Ghâshâd, but where once they would have obeyed instantly, now they hesitated momentarily. It was just enough. By the time the nearest of them raised their spears Tensor was ready for them. He swung his arm and they were tossed in all directions.

  “Tensor, stop!” screamed Shand. “What are you doing? Oh, you bloody fool!” He sprang forward, but Tensor held out his other hand and Shand could not get near him.

  The jet of light struck Rulke once more. He windmilled the air with his arms. Maigraith was blown sideways, to disappear behind the stairs. Rulke’s feet struggled for a purchase, but he was tossed into the air. Soaring like a paper cut-out on the wind, he slammed into the side of the construct. Rulke flung his arms and legs out, roaring so loudly that the spiral staircases oscillated.

  He raised a mighty fist and it seemed that he would fling Tensor’s potency in his face. Llian ducked for cover. Then Rulke suddenly collapsed as if all the air had been let out of him.

  Llian picked himself up. Everyone near, except himself, had been affected by the potency. Malien was on hands and knees, retching. Shand looked dazed and had a cut above one eye. Yggur lay twitching on the floor. The rest of the company were strewn about the room.

  Llian raced forward, crunching over broken glass, and saw that Rulke had been impaled on one of the horns of metal torn away from the side of the construct. The jagged black thorn protruded out through his side. Yet still Tensor screamed at his enemy, still the ruby jet roared out of him like water out of a fire hose. Tensor began to shrink down and wither, as if projecting his entire essence into that rod of fire.

  “Master!” cried Vartila the Whelm. Sprinting right across the room she struck Tensor down savagely. The beam arced across the ceiling and went out.

  “You stupid, stupid fools!” said Shand, lurching to his feet. “Tensor, all your names are folly. Look what you’ve done, Llian.”

  Malien hobbled over to Tensor, her lover once and long ago. “I have done well, Malien,” he said.

  Her face showed nothing but contempt. “You are not Tensor!” she said. “You are Pitlis the Second, the most contemptible fool that ever lived.” She did not tear her blouse in grief for him this time. She ripped his shirt off his back, dropped the tatters on the floor and put her head in her hands. “The Aachim are cursed!”

  Vartila hurled herself through the heaped-up fragments of glass to Rulke. “Master,” she cried, falling to her knees and taking his hand. “I was blind to you, master, but I know you now. Forgive me, master.”

  Rulke took Vartila’s hand and smiled. “Thank you, most faithful servant. But it’s over now. You’re free.”

  Tears poured down Vartila’s face. “What am I to do with freedom?” She spat the word out like blasphemy. “All I ever wanted was to serve my master.” She vainly tried to stem Rulke’s wound with her fists.

  Rulke writhed on the metal thorn. No one could think him their enemy any more, so great was his agony; so great his nobility. “Does Maigraith live?” he groaned.

  “Yes,” said Vartila. “She lies yonder.”

  “Attend her injuries, faithful servant, then bring her to me.”

  Llian took Karan’s hand. She did not recognize him. He tried to straighten her broken body but she screamed and screamed. He could do nothing to stop it. Shand and Malien ran to her. Llian was hopping around in such distress that Shand pushed him off.

  “Go away, you bloody fool! See to Rulke.”

  Llian crept up to the Charon. He touched the black metal spear.

  “I did this!” Llian said bitterly. “I am the stupidest man that ever drew breath.”

  Rulke smiled a smile of sorts. “You are,” he agreed. “But are you not a chronicler? This was my fate all along, Llian. Help me off this barb.”

  Rulke put out his hand. Llian gave his, braced himself and strained hard. The thorn crept into the wound. Rulke’s lips curled apart to show bloody gums. “Harder!” he gasped. He appeared to lose consciousness, then Llian gave a mighty heave and Rulke subsided to the floor. Blood gushed out of the chasm in his side. All around, Llian saw the horrified faces of the Ghâshâd, conscious that they might have saved their master, but had not.

  Rulke choked. Llian wiped blood from his mouth. The Charon stared at his shaking hand as though unable to believe that he could ever have come to this.

  “Where’s Karan?” he asked in a kind of a daze.

  “Right here,” said Llian.

  Turning his head, Rulke saw her lying there, still but for an occasional shudder. “Thank you, Karan.” He took her limp hand in his, and her pain eased, though his grew worse. “I’ve a gift for you.”

  “The Gift of Rulke!” murmured Llian. “I hope it’s not a poisoned chalice like the last one.”

  Rulke awkwardly felt inside his coat and brought out a black bead the size of a pill, in a clear case.

  “What is it?” Karan whispered.

  “The least I can do for you. Use it if you get better. If not, it won’t matter.” He pressed the case into Karan’s hand and closed her fluttering fingers around it. “And I’ve something for you too, Llian.”

  “I don’t deserve a reward,” Llian said bitterly.

  “I want you to have it anyway.”

  Fumbling at his throat, Rulke lifted over his head a tiny key made of silver, on a silver chain.

  “My spies told me that you lost a tale, chronicler. Here is a better! But you’ll have to earn it.” He dropped the c
hain over Llian’s head. With the movement his scarlet blood flooded onto the white floor. Rulke appeared to admire the patterns it made on the tiles. “The pain is even worse than the last time,” he whispered.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” said Llian stupidly.

  “Begin in Alcifer.” Rulke closed his eyes, went still, then seemed to find another reserve of strength. “We are extinct, chronicler. The Charon will live on only in your tales. Will you take them on for me?”

  Llian wiped his mouth again. Rulke’s side still ebbed blood. His dark complexion had faded to pale gray.

  “Yes, I swear it,” cried Llian, riddled with guilt and desperate to atone.

  “But make sure you tell the truth about us. All of it!”

  “The Histories are truth!” said Llian. “The best we can recover from the past.”

  Rulke looked at him pityingly. “Dear boy! You have failed the final test. You believe what you were taught. Everyone else may believe, but the masters must know the truth. History is as it is written, that is the only truth. Enough of that. I would speak to my enemy Tensor, before I die. Bring him here!”

  Tensor was carried across and laid next to Rulke and Karan.

  “Karan,” Tensor said in the husk that remained of his voice. Her eyes fluttered open. She was in great pain. “Forgive me for shaping you, for trying to destroy your triune talents. I did it for the best of reasons.”

  Karan took his huge dark hand in her small pale one. His hand was even colder than hers, and so withered now. She turned her head painfully, looking into his eyes. “I hated you for it, but what does it matter now?” she whispered, and closed her eyes again.

  “So, my enemy!” said Rulke. “You Aachim will have your freedom, and your world, after all.”

  “It’s too late for us,” said Tensor. “We are a species rich in folly but short on courage. We used you as an excuse for so long that we no longer know how to face the world by ourselves.”

  “But the Aachim will live on in Aachan. And here.”

  “Diminished!” Tensor said scornfully. “But tell me, how do my people fare?”