‘Yes, you are troubling me,’ he said with a half-smile.
‘You would like to know who I am,’ she prompted, her eyes glittering like liquid aquamarines.
‘Whether you are the one the Belhadrians call, “She To Whom We Pay Tribute”,’ he said.
Her beautiful onyx-carved face betrayed no reaction. ‘I only wonder that you’ve taken so long to ask! Yes. Yes I am. You look a little shocked, and draw back from me. I expect you have heard many ill stories of me, is that not so? And you would rather not have known for certain that I am She.’
‘I have not just heard things. I have seen them as well,’ he said, warily challenging her.
‘So you naturally assume I am evil.’ She sighed and a fleeting expression of sadness crossed her face. ‘Estarinel, are you able to believe that not everything is as it seems?’
‘Yes, of course,’ he said, perhaps too willing to hear an explanation that would redeem her.
‘Then, dear Estarinel, if you will only be patient till the morning, you shall be told everything.’ She touched his cheek then sat back, watching him.
‘Yes, I can wait that long,’ he replied.
After dinner, when he made his way to his room, he noticed that he felt curiously light-headed, while his limbs dragged like lead. It was certainly not the effect of one glass of wine; but he thought no more of it as he fell into a heavy sleep plagued by repetitious dreams of silvered glass.
#
Ashurek roamed the shimmering streets of the city without success. He kept coming back to the same place. With a grim smile he silently congratulated Arlenmia on bringing them to such a perfect, inescapable prison. To have created this mirrored trap she must have more power than any demon. Although she worked with the Shana, she showed none of the usual signs of possession. No, she was self-possessed and very powerful. He longed for Silvren’s advice; he had never had more need of it. Or the Egg-Stone’s power.
Repulsed, he tried to put that thought from his mind. Yet under the influence of the strange blue drug she had put into his veins, the image returned again and again. He was mentally exhausted by it, his concentration and willpower drastically diminished. Medrian had been right, there seemed to be no escape from Arlenmia.
And ‘She’ was now biding her time, laughing at him like a rat lost in a maze until he was weak enough to be bent to her will.
‘Why should the Serpent waste its time destroying us,’ Ashurek thought, ‘when it has slaves to do that small work for it? Ah, but it will not be satisfied with our destruction; no, we must be tormented and cajoled into working for it. In that way only can it truly win.’
#
The next morning, Gulla woke Estarinel and told him that Arlenmia would be awaiting him in the courtyard after breakfast.
She was already mounted on her blue-green palfrey when he joined her by the fountain. A groom held the reins of a large, light bay mare as he swung into the saddle. He felt a faint sense of disappointment, for he had half-hoped to see Shaell there. Then Arlenmia led the way along the marble streets between the bizarre, shimmering towers of metal until he eventually caught a glimpse of countryside between them.
It was a relief to feel grass beneath the hooves of his mare at last. They were on a flat plain of turf fringed by distant tree-covered hills. As they rode away from the city, he saw that it was in fact quite small, and looked even more surreal from without than from within. It was like an extraordinary metal sculpture. A strange idea began to take root in his mind, telling him that it was not a city at all, but had a quite different function…
‘Come on!’ called Arlenmia, urging her horse into a canter. He followed and they circled the gold and silver city from the north to the south. Here the hills were closer and only sparsely covered by trees. Arlenmia continued at a gallop to the nearest peak.
‘There!’ she exclaimed, pulling her horse to a ragged, prancing halt, its golden tail streaming like a banner. ‘From here we have a fine view. Let us dismount for a few minutes and rest the horses.’
The bay mare was blowing hard. Estarinel jumped from her back, glad of a rest himself. He was still not fully fit. He looked to the south and saw a gleam of white on the horizon, some twenty miles away.
‘You can see the white hills and waterfalls at the equator,’ said Arlenmia, coming to stand next to him and pointing with a long, alabaster-smooth finger. ‘You see, the nemen did not bring you far. Which way will you go when you recommence your journey?’
‘I don’t know,’ Estarinel began. He was about to explain that he must find his way to the coast and sail to Forluin, but stopped, feeling disturbed by this sudden loss of caution. He was too much at ease, the memory of Forluin was faint… he knew that this was somehow wrong, but at the same time felt that it didn’t really matter.
Arlenmia smiled when he paused, and slipped her arm through his. She was almost as tall as him, and her long jewel-threaded hair spread onto his shoulder like turquoise silk.
‘You think you’re lost, don’t you?’ she said softly. ‘But you’re not. I’ve so much to tell you and show you. Things of far greater beauty than any painting or tapestry…’ Her deep blue-green eyes took on an opalescent lustre as she spoke. ‘You don’t have to leave.’
He turned to reply and then she was kissing him, her arms travelling in a languorous, snake-like movement to encircle his shoulders. Her mouth was cool, taking warmth from his. He was lost, fevered. He embraced her tightly and she pressed herself against him, eventually ending the kiss and sighing against his cheek.
‘Oh, I knew you would not be as blind as…’
‘As who?’
‘Others.’ Her smile was more in her eyes than on her lips. ‘You will trust me and believe me, I know.’
‘Do I have any reason not to?’
‘None.’ She kissed him again. ‘Now, if I was so cruel as to give you a choice of leaving immediately, or coming back to the city with me for good, I wonder what you would say? Ah, but I am not that cruel.’
‘Aren’t you? You must know I would come back with you,’ Estarinel murmured, his arms tightening about her.
‘Yes,’ she whispered into his ear, her voice passionate and persuasive. ‘What happened in Forluin does not matter.’
At this his feelings fell dead. He abruptly disentangled himself from her as if from a serpent, and stared at her aghast. ‘If you knew anything about Forluin, you would not say that!’ he exclaimed.
A look of regret crossed her face. ‘I forgot that I have not yet explained to you.’
‘I think you had better, and straight away.’
‘Yes. We’ll go back,’ Arlenmia said, lightly mounting her palfrey and arranging her long satin skirts. They began to ride down the hillside, the scintillating metal towers of the city ahead of them. He was sure she had not meant to say what she did, because it had instantly shattered the strange spell she had cast over him. He was not prepared to wait for her explanation.
‘I’ve seen a lot of miserable people, stricken by a plague which they blame on you,’ he began. ‘I’ve seen a boy, who claimed to be your messenger, commit murder and terrorise his own parents. He also claimed to have shown us a mirror that put us in your power. Belhadra seems full of people who think they are dying of apathy and fear, because of you. Well, is it true? Are you responsible?’
The Lady Arlenmia listened, colour coming to her jade-smooth cheek. As he finished, she sighed. ‘Estarinel, you look at me as if what happened in Forluin was my fault as well! But different things must be achieved in different ways.
‘The poor Belhadrians make it so hard for me to help them. I came here some years ago; my work had to begin somewhere, so where better than the vital heart – the Glass City? I came to unite them with the joyous knowledge, but oh, how they fight! I never dreamed they’d be so stubborn. So I have to make them see through my mirrors and my messengers; it is unfortunate, but the only way to help them. If only they would listen to me I could save them from the plague, from
their own foolishness.’
‘But what do you want of them? To worship you?’
‘Me? No, oh no! I seek eternal life for them – eternal perfection! My work is extending – my messengers work far beyond Belhadra’s borders.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Estarinel said. ‘What are you trying to do?’
‘Oh, it is almost impossible to put into words. I will explain it to you in a more visual way, in a short while. You see, like so many great works, it will be mistakenly opposed – and this is the greatest work of all.’
The wild, deep passion in her voice frightened Estarinel, and he knew she did not speak in madness, but from a true and terrible root of evil.
‘Belhadra suffers, but it is only temporary. Forluin and Gorethria will be the hardest, but help is here at last – at my fingertips!’ Arlenmia tossed her lovely head back in elation, and her horse danced.
‘My companions are here, aren’t they?’ Estarinel said.
‘Yes, of course,’ she answered, smiling. ‘As you now realise, if Mel Skara’s mirror drew you here, it must have drawn them also. You are all here, the three keys: Ashurek, Medrian and yourself.’ They rode from grass onto a marble-paved street.
‘Do you mean it was planned we should come here?’
‘Do you think you can make a single move of your own volition?’ She laughed, and he thought again of the two figures, one light, one dark, both grey. ‘But listen, Estarinel. I don’t know everything. When a mind is firmly closed against me I cannot see into it. I want us to be friends, to help each other. Open your mind to me; I must see all your thoughts and intentions, so that I may make my own aims known to you. It is fascinating to see innocence become knowledge…’
He did not fully understand what she was telling him, but he could feel her charisma begin to enmesh him again. He looked away from her, and tried a specific question.
‘What about Skord? He claims to do your work–’
‘Ah yes, Skord.’ Her face became suddenly livid. ‘He was a sickly wretch when I found him. I healed him, gave him a new home and peace of mind. I had his adoptive parents believe he was really their son… although I think some doubt must have remained on both sides, which would account for the hatred which has developed between them.’ Estarinel could not believe the offhand manner in which she spoke, as if manipulating people’s memories and the resultant hatred were perfectly natural. ‘He was more than happy to work for me in return. Of course, if someone had inadvertently brought back his memory, they would little realise what harm they had done or what torment they had caused him.’
He looked at her, startled. They had arrived at her house, but he was hardly aware of dismounting, or of the groom leading the horses away and out of sight. Arlenmia was glaring at him, her face full of cold rage.
‘It may surprise you to learn that I had nothing to do with events in Drish either. I healed Skord. He loved me. But Drish, and Forluin, and Belhadra, at whose names your face becomes grim with outraged horror, don’t matter! They don’t matter at all!’
She took his elbow in a powerful grip, propelling him inside the house and into the long dining hall. Her face was cold as a winter moon and her eyes two viridian flames of rage. Releasing him, she went to the fire and set a little table between the two chairs. On it she placed a decanter of wine and two crystal goblets, the blue and purple satin of her dress rustling as she moved.
‘Please, come and sit down,’ she said, her face calm again. She poured two goblets of wine and handed one to him. ‘Forgive my temper, Estarinel. I am not really angry at you. It is anger at the Belhadrians, and your companions, and even Skord – all those who will not listen and see the rightness of what I am doing.’ The warm and fervent passion began to enter her voice again. Estarinel noticed the unnatural luminosity of her eyes as she continued. ‘But perhaps I expect too much. I have not been here long, and this is only the beginning. It is true that the Belhadrians are becoming witless, apathetic and forgetful. It seems a shame, but understand this: in order to replace a dull, poor painting with a glorious work of art, you must first paint the canvas white. This is what I am doing. I send reflected dreams to them; only when their minds are quite clean will they begin to absorb and comprehend new, glorious colours.’
Her words made Estarinel shudder. He swallowed some wine. ‘What of the plague – what use is that?’
‘Again, unfortunate – a simple instrument of fear, to make them aware of my power. But, Estarinel, victims of the plague do not die. Their souls merely wait in limbo until such time as my dream is achieved. So it is not as cruel as it seems.’
‘Not cruel? It sounds monstrous,’ he whispered, his throat hoarse. He drained the rest of the wine, wishing that he felt able to move, to escape her insane words.
‘Does it?’ She considered. ‘Yes, I suppose it does, from a human point of view.’ She put down her untouched goblet and came forward, kneeling with her arms resting on his knees, looking up at him. His instinct was to recoil from her, but her presence held him motionless.
‘You think I’m insane, don’t you? But, Estarinel, haven’t you considered how imperfect human life is? Everything decays and dies and is messy and purposeless. I am seeking a way to eternal life – not just for me but for the whole Earth and everyone on it. Everything will be crystallised into a perfect, ecstatic state. There will be no illness, no death or suffering, no petty human woes and pathetic fleeting joys – only a supreme happiness: that of worshipping perfection, for all time. Naturally the world has to be broken and remade – that’s what is happening in Forluin and everywhere else. But it is only a passing human sorrow – can’t you see it doesn’t matter?’
Her words, in their passion and sincerity, were terribly persuasive. Estarinel bent towards her, beginning to believe that he had misjudged her, that she did have an answer to the world’s sorrows. A smile lit her lovely jade-carved face. ‘What makes you think humans are of any importance in the great designs of the universe? We are nothing! But I can make us important – make us part of it, for ever!’ She grasped his hand. ‘Now do you begin to see?’
‘A little,’ he said.
‘Good. You are going to share it with me.’ Estarinel felt slightly dizzy, as if his chair was tipping backwards, and he noticed strange whorls of colour creeping across the ceiling.
‘Arlenmia, was there something in the wine?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Don’t be alarmed. It’s so that I can show you my dream in full.’
‘Why have you drugged me?’ he persisted, as he lost control of his consciousness to the pervading substance.
‘Open your mind to me,’ she said softly, sitting back on her heels. Just as his contact with reality was lost completely, he stood up and walked past her towards the door. Every step was like walking against some thick, molten substance; he could see nothing but a soft yellowness, translucent and fluid, in which odd shapes were veiled into greyish silhouettes. He breathed the liquid. It permeated his brain until at last there were only two impressions left in his mind. One was that this was the normal state of the world; the other was that he was not walking at all, that he was still sitting in Arlenmia’s hall.
Then the fluid vanished without him noticing and the air was very thin and bright. The street on which he stood was broad and the buildings were tall, round towers piercing the sky. They were made of glass: deep reds, violets, greens and ultramarines. Within each one a hundred faces were pressed to the glass, hanging, pleading, distorted where the flesh was pulled and flattened against the prison wall. Hands clawed and mouths gaped soundlessly and the faces of the prisoners stared at Estarinel as they tried to scratch their way from their glass prisons.
Beneath his feet there were slabs of glass and he felt that they were many hundreds of feet thick, even bottomless. This gave him the sickening feeling of being poised over a chasm. Then he found he could see for miles through the glass, and he saw many strange fish encased in the stuff, scaled with greenish rainbows, mouths and
eyes wide, as if a moment in the depths of the sea had been frozen.
He felt that all the creatures of the sea were crying out for help; fish, reptiles, birds, mammals – for we are all creatures of the sea, he thought. And the vision of all life imprisoned in glass seemed horribly symbolic of something he did not understand, but which Arlenmia would soon explain and instill into his mind.
Afraid, he turned to run, but as he did so, he saw a figure in front of him. In that moment he felt that this place was not a drug-induced vision, but real; that he had stepped into another dimension.
The figure was a young woman, small and slender, with long hair of deep gold, golden skin and eyes. She was in a simple pale robe, and he could see through her to the shining towers beyond, as if she were herself made of glass.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, her voice like crystal in the bright air. ‘Are you a friend of Ashurek?’
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘I am Estarinel of Forluin. And you are Silvren.’ She nodded with a smile of relief lighting her face, and she stretched out her arms to embrace him. She was real also, but her flesh felt strangely viscid and insubstantial to his touch. He did not feel surprised to see her, only pleased, as if she were an old friend of his.
‘I thought you were–’
‘In the Dark Regions? I am. What you see is an astral presence, which I cannot maintain for long. My body is in the Dark Regions and the longer I stay here, the worse it will be when I return. It takes so much energy. I am using what little is left of my sorcery to watch over Ashurek, and warn him about Arlenmia. But when I came here, it was all deserted, as I should have realised.’
‘But where are we? I was drugged – I thought this place was an hallucination.’ Estarinel held her hands, which seemed to flow through his like liquid.
‘No, it is real. This is the old Glass City in its true guise. The city of metal is an illusion created by Arlenmia. But her drug has brought you here in astral form also, thank goodness.’ She did not say, though she must have thought it, that she wished Ashurek had been brought here instead. ‘You must tell me all that has happened, though quickly – we haven’t much time.’
A Blackbird In Silver (Book 1) Page 21