by Ian Irvine
“They might as well be dead,” said Yalkara in a whisper. “See, Rulke is avenged, and they did it to themselves.”
“The Twisted Mirror,” Maigraith said bitterly, but still she had to turn her head away. “It lies!”
“Not to me!”
“I’m sure Faelamor survived it.”
“Look!” said Yalkara, thrusting the Mirror into her face. “Look, and know that revenge is pointless.”
The scene shifted, shifted again, then settled on one place. It was a clearing snowy with ash, in the middle of which lay a small pile of unrecognizable bones. Maigraith knew, without knowing how, that they were Faelamor’s. Only then did she weep for the grandmother she had spent most of her life with and never known.
The Charon mourned for Tallallame, an ancestral memory but a very powerful one. No world could come up to it. Its loss was the final blow. “I have but one wish left,” said Yalkara, “and that is to lead my people back into the void.”
Maigraith slumped into a heap. “I never asked who my Faellem grandfather was, and now I will never know. I have nothing to live for any more. I will come with you, Grandmother.”
“Nonsense! We choose the void willingly, knowing what it is like. You have no conception. Think about Rulke’s sacrifice. Think about his parting words.”
“The fruit of our love will shake the Three Worlds to their underpinnings,” she quoted. “I don’t know what he meant.”
“I wonder,” said Yalkara thoughtfully. Drawing up Maigraith’s shirt she put those terribly scarred hands on her belly. Maigraith felt soothed, at peace. She was drifting off to sleep when Yalkara’s cry broke into her thoughts.
“A miracle!” Yalkara was shaking with emotion. “A miracle has occurred.”
“What?” Maigraith asked sleepily.
“His parting gift. Rulke has quickened you.”
“Impossible!” said Maigraith. “I am sterile. Faelamor told me so.”
“And you believed her? Of course she would say that. She was terrified of the triune and everything you represented! No, there’s no doubt about it. We know everything about conception.”
“Rulke said that too,” Maigraith said, and smiled for the first time since his death.
Yalkara looked up, her eyes brimming, and called her people to her. “This is our greatest day in a thousand years.”
The Hundred, what was left of them, all gathered round Maigraith, touching her as if she was a saint, a miraculous vessel, their way forward into the future.
“This gives me hope,” cried a sage, a graybeard sodden with tears. “I see that it will be the first of a new human species. Our extinction is a rebirth—a species that has a better hope of survival than we ever did.”
“My plan has taken on a life of its own,” Yalkara said to herself, “and in a way I never expected. Alas, I’ll never see how it turns out.”
“What do you mean?” cried Maigraith, whose hearing was keen. “Did you plan this all along?”
“Not in the way you’re thinking, Granddaughter,” Yalkara replied calmly. “But I knew—as Rulke did not—that we Charon were no longer a viable species. One hundred was not enough—we lost too much of our heritage in the void. Our only chance was to breed with the other human species and find a way to make the offspring viable,”
“Then you will stay?” Maigraith asked, holding her grandmother’s scarred hands.
“No, child. Our time is past. I was the youngest of the Charon, but I gave half my life away, and now Aachan has withered my ovaries as it shriveled the gonads of each of us. We have already made the decision to go.”
“But…” said Maigraith.
“Maigraith, the extinction of a species makes all other human tragedies insignificant. It has always been my destiny to lead my people. How can I abandon them now? But to know that you carry our seed into the future, that from you may spring a new species, is all that we need.”
Maigraith faced the thought of life on Aachan without them. “Even the void would be better than remaining here after you have gone.”
“But you are triune! You are at home on any of the Three Worlds, in any of the human cultures.”
“Or none!” she said bitterly. “So did Faelamor warp me.”
“We would not leave you to suffer our fate,” said Yalkara. “Besides, this world is surely doomed. We will try to send you back to Santhenar, before we go. Do you have friends to support you? The coming months will be difficult.”
Maigraith thought about those left behind. “There is Karan, if she is still alive—the best friend anyone ever had.”
“Good! Are there others?”
“Malien, Tallia, Yggur, Llian! Yes,” she said, realizing for the first time in her life that she had friends. “And of course, dear Shand, who is everything to me.”
“Shand?” frowned Yalkara.
“My grandfather, Gyllias!”
Yalkara might have been struck by lightning. “Gyllias lives? And he found you?”
“He lives, and he still longs for you. Will you not come back to Santhenar now?”
Yalkara fell to her knees. “Gyllias!” she screamed. “Gyllias,” she repeated in a whisper. “How I love you. Gyllias! I want you still—”
A cry disturbed her. The Charon had all gathered round and were staring desperately at her, afraid she would abandon them. They were old people now; much older than her.
“Don’t leave us, Yalkara,” wept the bearded old sage. “Not in our most desperate need!”
Yalkara looked from them to Maigraith, and back again. She put her arm around Maigraith’s shoulders and led her to a bench.
“Look at my people,” she said softly. “We have been together, sharing everything, since the Hundred came out of the void. We seventy are the last Charon left in the universe and we are dying one by one. We can’t bear that any longer. We have vowed to leap into the void together. All for all. They depend on me, and I need them.”
“But, Gyllias—”
“I want to see him desperately. I want to go with you, too. But I can’t, Maigraith. It’s too late now. Far too late!”
Yalkara rocked back onto her knees and stood up. Her forehead was smudged with a crescent moon of dust. “The past cannot be recovered. I cannot linger on in Santhenar knowing that the rest of my kind are gone. Not even for Gyllias would I be the last. I will go with them into the void.”
Maigraith shivered. “You’re right, Grandmother. I’m used to looking after myself. But poor Shand! How will I tell him?”
“Tell him the truth. He will understand. Our lives have run their course. But first we must find a way to send you back.”
The Charon took heart from this new project. They set to work to extract what they could from the ruins of the construct and build a device to open the Way again. That was a thankless task and a very long one. More than half a year had gone by before they completed a device to do the job. It was quite simple—just a flared tube of metal like a hunting horn, but of exquisite make.
They stood Maigraith on a burnished plate of brass set in the floor and the remaining Hundred embraced her, one by one. Last of all, Yalkara watered Maigraith’s slender shoulders and hugely swollen belly with her tears.
“Please come with me,” Maigraith begged, clinging to her grandmother’s scarred hands. “I’m afraid. I want you there for my time.”
“I can’t. Things are different now. The Way between the Worlds will be much harder to find and to cross than before. This horn is good for two blasts only—one to send you to Santhenar; one to take us home to the void. We are not sorry to go, not now. Are you prepared?”
“Yes!” she squeaked.
“Be ready for anything. You may not end up quite where you hope. The passage may hurt. And you will arrive there naked, for I can send nothing but you.”
“I came here with all my goods,” said Maigraith. “I must at least have the ring Rulke gave me.”
“The construct carried you here,” said Yalkara,
“and all your goods too. This horn just sends you.” She consulted the others. “I’ll try to send the ring with you as well, but don’t be surprised if you lose it. Now, link with me.”
They linked and Maigraith showed Yalkara her destination, Gothryme Manor. Yalkara traced out the Way between the Worlds for the last time, the way to Santhenar, and that was much harder than it had been before.
“You’re ready?”
Maigraith looked into her grandmother’s eyes, took a deep breath and nodded.
“Wait,” said Yalkara. “You won’t be needing this.” She took the Mirror from Maigraith’s pocket. “I’ll take it with me into the void where it can’t do any more harm.” Then she thought of something. “Oh, Maigraith!”
“Yes?”
“There are still some Faellem left on Santh, I believe. In the wilds of Mirrilladell.”
“That is so,” said Maigraith, wondering what she was getting at. “Many did refuse to join Faelamor in Elludore.”
“If you were to go there, you might find someone who knew Faelamor’s consort in ancient times. Your other grandfather.”
“Thank you,” said Maigraith. “I will, one day.”
“And Maigraith?”
“Yes, Yalkara?”
Yalkara clutched her hand, squeezing so hard that it hurt. “Tell Gyllias… tell Shand… I have never stopped loving him. I never will!” She abruptly let go. “Go now.”
“Fare well.”
“Fare well, fare well!” chorused the Charon.
The horn blatted. Maigraith felt turned inside out. The baby kicked frantically. Aachan vanished. She whirled through nothingness, keeping a desperate grip on that image of Gothryme. Her finger burned as if the ring had turned to molten gold. She closed her fist, and closed the other fist over it as tightly as she possibly could, willing it to come with her. Everything went blank, she lost her way, found it again and with a crack that hurt her eardrums and sent the baby into a fury, she landed on her bottom on the threadbare rug before the fire in Karan’s living room.
The room was empty. It was just on dark. Maigraith got up, unsteady on her pins. She leaned on the edge of a table, knocking it down and collapsing onto her knees. Her belly felt much heavier than it had on Aachan. She was as naked as the child within her. Her hand and ring-finger burned unbearably.
She opened her fist. The ring was still there, but it was melted into strands like four wires twisted together, with a button of gold at front and back. It was still scorching hot. She wrenched it off and the skin came with it. Her finger was burned around the circle so deeply that the scar would never leave her. The other burn scars ran up her arm past the elbow. Like my grandmother, she thought. Maigraith slipped the ring onto a finger of her right hand and never took it off again.
A thin old man with white hair appeared in the doorway. His manners were far too good to show his astonishment. Helping Maigraith to her feet, he swept a tablecloth around her and settled her back into a chair before the fire.
“And who…? Ah, I remember you,” Rachis said. He shouted through the doorway. “Karan! Come quickly!”
Karan limped in. Her hair stood on end. Then she leapt right across the room to embrace Maigraith.
“Maigraith!” she shrieked. “How did you get here? And look how fat you are. Why, you’re pregnant!”
“So I am,” said Maigraith, smiling. “To Rulke. It’s so good to be home.”
“How did you get here?”
“Yalkara found a way to send me back. Oh Karan, I have no idea what I am going to do with my life, but I feel that I belong for the first time.”
“Well, there is one complication—”
Just then Yggur came in to see what the fuss was about. When he saw Maigraith he went pale, and one side of his face froze the way it had done when he was still possessed by Rulke. He staggered, his knee gave way, then he came on, limping badly. Shand stood behind him in the doorway, his eyes shining.
“Maigraith,” Yggur whispered, holding out his arms. “I tried to find a way to bring you back.”
She took his hand but did not embrace him. “I see,” Yggur said, abruptly turning away.
“Is Yalkara…?” began Shand.
“She lives,” said Maigraith.
“Did you tell her about me?” The yearning in Shand’s eyes was awful.
“Yes,” said Maigraith, wanting to run away from his hopeless longing. She took him in her arms instead. “She said she will never stop loving you.”
Shand stiffened. “She’s not coming, is she?”
“No. She wanted to, so very badly but she could not abandon her people. They are going back to the void.”
Shand hung his head in his hands. His voice reflected off the floor. “I should have given her up when she went through the gate. But hope would not die.”
He walked over to the window and stood there looking out.
“Maigraith,” said Yggur. “I cannot get you out of my mind. I want you more than ever. Will you come back to me?”
“No,” she said as gently as she was able. “I can’t, Yggur, though I wish you all the best. Besides, how would it be when I gave brith to the son of your lifelong enemy?”
“A—bitter—day,” he said haltingly, though it was not clear whether he referred to that day or this.
Maigraith held her breath. Yggur was going through a terrible struggle. His strength of character was also his weakness. Would he rise above it, or would it overwhelm him?
“There was a time when I would not have been able to accept such a blow,” he said. “Before Carcharon I would have had to break something; or someone!” He forced himself to smile and gave her his hand. “I wish you well.”
He turned and limped away. “I will go back to Fiz Gorgo for a time,” he said to Shand.
“Nobly done,” said Shand. “But who will look after your empire? Who will rule unruly Thurkad?”
“It’s yours, if you want it.”
Shand laughed. “Of course I don’t want it. Give it to your ablest general, until a new Council can be elected. Or, better still, to Tallia.”
“I’m not up to it,” said Tallia, shaking her long black hair. “I don’t want to be Magister.”
“You’ve passed the most important test then,” said Shand. “And here is a challenge. Look at the mess Thurkad and Meldorin are in. Who else has the strength and the wisdom, and the compassion, to right all the wrongs that have been done?”
“I—“
“Would you not do good things that no other Magister would? What if Thyllan were to come back? What if there were no Magister at all, and one of Yggur’s generals were to rule, say?”
“They are hard men,” said Tallia, reflecting. “And Thyllan is a fool and a monster. Very well, if you ask it and the Council supports it, I will take it on for a year. But no longer. I have other plans now. We’re going to sail back to Crandor once Lilis finishes her apprenticeship.”
“Maybe we’ll come with you,” said Llian. “Take our baby to see its grandparents.”
“What do you say, Yggur?” said Shand.
“I can think of no better choice,” he said, and gave her his hand. “Fare well.”
“What could I do?” said Maigraith after the door closed behind him. “It was over long ago.”
At that moment Malien came in from outside. On seeing Maigraith she went pale, then, most uncharacteristically, ran and took her hand. “How fare my people, Maigraith?” she whispered.
“I did not see them after the construct was destroyed,” said Maigraith. “They went back to their own cities. But Aachan is in its death agony. Ten thousand volcanoes were erupting when I left. I don’t see how the Aachim can survive.”
Malien let her hand fall. “And there is nothing I can do about it.” She slumped into a chair, staring at the fire.
No one said anything for a full minute. But to Maigraith’s surprise, Malien got up again, and she was smiling.
“Adversity only strengthens our resolve
,” Malien said. “If there is a way to survive, my people will find it, as they have always done. And I must be just as strong. I have much to do. Fare well!” She embraced them all and hurried out.
“So what will you do, Shand?” Karan asked.
Shand smiled. “Suddenly I have everything to live for.” He embraced Maigraith. “I was sure I’d lost you too. I’ll stay for a while, at least until my great-grandchild is born, and your child too, Karan. You’ve no idea how much I’m looking forward to being a great-grandfather. And then? Back to Tullin I suppose. That’s not so far away that I won’t see you often. In Tullin I’ll tend my gellon trees and lay down liqueurs for the children, until my time is up.”
Llian crawled into bed, looking as gloomy as he had every night since returning from the college.
“What’s the matter?” Karan asked irritably. The baby was already hard work and his everlasting depression was wearing her out.
“The usual problem,” he said, staring at the wall.
Karan couldn’t take it any more. “Well, find something to do with your life!” she said furiously. “Our baby needs a contented father, not a miserable one.” Blowing out the lamp, she presented him with her rigid back.
Llian lay awake, staring into the darkness as he went through his situation over and again. It was obvious that there were only two things in the world he was suited for—being a master chronicler and a teller. But to Llian the two professions were hand in glove; he had to have both.
I will find something to do! he thought. Damn the college and the master chroniclers. Damn the old master and the new one too! No one will tell me that I can’t practice my art. I’ll make my living by being a teller, and be a chronicler in secret. I’ll begin on Rulke’s Tale. The defiance gave him a powerful thrill, like the time in the Nightland when Rulke had offered him the forbidden knowledge. I will have it! I can’t do otherwise. Maybe I am corrupt, but I’ll have what I want and pay the price, whatever that may be.