The Ropemaker

by Peter Dickinson

For a moment Tilja didn’t recognize either of them. Then she saw that the shorter one was Lananeth, and from that made the leap to seeing that the other was Zara, the Lord Kzuva’s magician. But the change in them both was shocking. There was that unnatural stillness and smoothness about them which all powerful magicians seemed to have—that look of a statue brought to life. Zara had already had something of it when they had met her in her warded room in Talagh, but then there had still been something human about her. Now even their smiles of greeting were stone smiles. The change was far greater in Lananeth.

  “Our Lord Kzuva bids you welcome,” said Zara.

  “How did you know we were coming?” asked Tahl.

  “The forest told us. It has no language, but we could sense it struggling to master someone who was draining its power away, and guessed that could only be Tilja. But we were not expecting . . . you two are Alnor and Meena?”

  “That’s us,” said Meena. “Fa . . . I think it’s all right to say his name now—anyway Lananeth knows it—Faheel gave us a bunch of grapes to eat to make us like this, so we could travel home with the other two and nobody’d ask any questions. And very nice too, it’s been.”

  Exactly together, as if moving in time to unheard music, Zara and Lananeth stepped forward and each raised a hand and held it close beside Meena’s cheek, then Alnor’s, and after a moment or two, still exactly together, lowered their hands and backed away.

  “We do not know how this is done,” said Zara. “You are in our warded room, where we are at our strongest, and still we cannot feel that you are not just what you seem.”

  “We are, too,” said Meena. “Tilja touching us doesn’t make any difference, either.”

  “He has changed time, not you. Somehow he has brought you out of your past and put you into this time.”

  “Like Asarta undoing her years in the story, you mean?” said Tahl. “After she’d given the ring to Reyel and Dirna to take to Faheel?”

  The magicians lost their smiles. Tilja gulped with sudden tension. She’d never imagined that the existence of the ring might slip into a conversation like this, and anyway she couldn’t have warned the others about it without telling them more than she dared. Tahl was staring at her, frowning. She shook her head in warning. He nodded and looked away.

  “Ring?” said Zara softly. “Indeed, there was once a ring, but Asarta took it . . . or so it is said. Perhaps you should tell us the story. And your own.”

  The four from the Valley looked at each other. Tilja could sense that the other three were feeling her unease by now. Alnor took charge.

  “I think you’d better tell us something first,” he said aggressively. “How do we know you’re the people we met before? You’ve changed. You’re doing everything exactly together. Lananeth has not said a word. And you keep talking about ‘we’ as if Lananeth had not got a mind of her own. Is she in your power? Or are you both in someone else’s?”

  The two smiles returned, but now Tilja was certain she didn’t believe them.

  “We are one, joined,” said Zara. “It became necessary when His Lordship asked us to wake the forest. This was a very big undertaking, far too great for either one of us alone. Joined, it was just within our powers, but the effort itself changed us, wove us into each other’s mind, so now, though our bodies have separate existences, our thoughts are one thought.”

  “And what’s happened to your feelings, if you don’t mind my asking?” said Meena. “Or haven’t you got any, anymore? All the thoughts you’ll ever think, they aren’t any good without feelings.”

  Still with the same stony smiles the two women gently shook their heads. Tilja had been unhappily watching Lananeth while the magician spoke, looking for some hint of the strong and friendly human who had welcomed them to Ellion’s house. For a moment that Lananeth seemed to be there, a sad and desperate glimmer in the depths of the calm brown eyes. Yes, she was sure. Quite deliberately Tilja took a pace forward, put an arm round Lananeth’s shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.

  The numbness exploded through her. Lananeth juddered and went rigid. Zara too, standing beside her. Zara became a sort of thick mist, which became taller and thinner, then solidified, and now where Zara had been, a man was standing, tall and skinny, dressed all in black. His eyes had no pupils. They were the color of ice. They blazed fury, but he too, for the moment, was locked rigid. Before he could break the spell Tilja reached out and took him by the wrist.

  He was strong, far stronger than Dorn. Though she had taken him by surprise, he fought her with his fury, gathering it together, building it into a focused power.

  She took Lananeth’s wrist in her other hand and with a huge effort closed her mind, shutting out the man, the fury, and searching into her own depths to find her central, secret lake among the mountains. Now the three of them stood on its shore. But its surface was torn by a mountain storm. Unheard winds shrieked between the snow peaks. The whole slope opposite was covered by the menacing dark shadow of the man, with Lananeth’s and Tilja’s shadows small beside it. The shadows were not thrown by any sun. There was none. Never again. No sun.

  Still grasping both wrists, Tilja stepped into the raging water. There was no bottom. She sank, dragging the other two with her. Down they went, and down. The man melted into the water, dwindling away. She looked up and in the dim, watery light saw it was Zara and Lananeth she was dragging behind her. She could live in this water as long as she chose, but they would drown. She let go of their wrists, put an arm round each of them, and simply by choosing to do so rose to the surface, pulled them out and laid them on the grass. The storm was gone. Sunlight glittered off the glaciers, reflected in the barely rippled surface of the lake. Reluctantly she turned away and came back into the outer world.

  She was in the warded room in Lord Kzuva’s castle, holding Lananeth and Zara by the wrists. A black-clad body lay at their feet. Tilja could see the back of the head, an old, bald cranium, yellow and blotched and shiny. When she let go of the two magicians they both crumpled to the floor.

  All this in an instant. Meena, Tahl and Alnor were still picking themselves up after being buffeted aside, as if by an explosion in the middle of the room, when, from somewhere outside, came a tremendous series of crashes, dwindling away amid the yells of human voices.

  Tilja barely heard them. Shuddering with exhaustion and relief, she too collapsed and buried her face in her hands, gasping for air.

  When she straightened and looked around, Meena was kneeling beside her, holding her close, Alnor was crouching and feeling for Lananeth’s pulse, and Tahl was staring at the body on the floor. Outside the room the tone of the voices had changed from alarmed shouts to bellows of command.

  “She’s alive, at least,” Alnor whispered. “Wait. She’s coming round.”

  “Grab hold of Til in case she tries something,” said Tahl.

  Huddling together, the four of them watched the magician slowly straighten her body and lie still for a little. She groaned and pushed herself up onto her elbow, shook her head slowly from side to side and gazed round the room.

  Seeing Zara’s body, she jerked herself to her knees, crawled across and laid her hand against the ashen cheek. With a gasp Zara sat up, and they helped each other to their feet. They stood for some while face to face, holding hands and studying each other in silence, like old friends who haven’t met for many years. They were both very pale, but most of the stony look was gone.

  At last Zara breathed a quivering sigh and smiled weakly.

  “Are you much hurt, my dear?” she whispered.

  “The worst pain I have ever known,” said Lananeth. “But it’s gone now. And you?”

  “The same.”

  They fell silent, still looking at each other with the same amazed relief.

  “But what happened?” asked Tahl. “Who is this, anyway? One moment he wasn’t there, then he was, and then . . . Did Tilja do all that?”

  “I do not know,” said Lananeth. “I remember nothing sinc
e I came into this room.”

  “Nor I,” said Zara. “Only the pain. Did you do this, child? Did you have any idea what you were doing?”

  Tilja pulled herself together.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I ought to have asked. I—I just couldn’t stand it like it was. It was all wrong.”

  “Yes, it was wrong,” said Lananeth. “I fought against it still, but Varti was far too strong for me.”

  She gestured toward the body on the floor.

  “This was Varti,” said Zara. “He was North, most powerful of all the Watchers. My Lord Kzuva asked Lananeth to try to close the hills against all comers, which was beyond her powers, so she came to me for help. It was still too much for us, far too much. Then Varti came. He told us that if we all three joined our powers then we could do as My Lord asked. He had good reason, he said. There was a powerful, unknown magician at work in the Empire. This man had first destroyed the towers of the Watchers, and half the Watchers with them, and was now hunting down the rest. Varti hoped to close the hills against this enemy. So we agreed and between us we closed the hills, but Varti then possessed us, as you saw, until Tilja set us free. . . .What is happening?”

  Tilja realized that the sounds from the antechamber, and beyond, had quietened. Now they broke out again in a wailing cry that rose and fell in slow pulses. Somewhere a deep gong began to sound, keeping time with the wailing. Lananeth had her hand to her mouth and a look of horror on her face. Zara was standing rigid. Her eyes were dull as pebbles. Then the light came back into them and she bowed her head.

  “My Lord was building a tower for Varti, thinking it was for us,” she said somberly. “It has fallen. My Lord was beneath it.”

  They stared at each other in dismay.

  “We shall be blamed,” whispered Lananeth. “Who else is there, if it was magic that destroyed the tower?”

  Zara nodded somberly.

  “We must go at once,” she said. “You four also. Come.”

  She led the way out by a small door behind the hangings through which she and Lananeth had entered.

  By the time they reached the bottom of the narrow stair that led down from the warded room, both magicians looked like menials of some sort, with different faces and wearing coarse clothing. Zara led them out through back passages. None of the frightened servants hurrying by questioned or even noticed them. They found the stables by the squeals of panicking horses. Some of them had broken loose from their stalls and were cantering wildly round the stable courtyard. Zara quietened them with a gesture, allowing Tilja to enter the stables, find Calico and lead her out. Tilja returned to the courtyard to find that the two magicians had each chosen one of the loose horses, which was now standing placidly beside her, unharnessed and unbridled. When Zara led the way on they followed as if on invisible halters.

  As they crossed the bridge Tilja halted to fiddle with her shoe, sure that Tahl would stay with her.

  “Whatever you’ve guessed, don’t tell the other two,” she whispered. “I think Lananeth and Zara have forgotten. Try not to think about it. It’s dangerous, anyone knowing, even you.”

  He stared for a moment, then nodded. They hurried to catch up.

  At the bend in the road from which they had first seen Lord Kzuva’s palace they turned and looked back. The gaping hole into which the unfinished tower had fallen was invisible from where they stood, so the wonderful building seemed almost unchanged, apart from some tangles of smashed scaffolding in among the turrets and spires. The slow throb of the gong reverberated along the valley.

  “He will never now set foot upon the Opal Stair,” said Zara, as if speaking to herself.

  “He wanted to do that too?” asked Tahl.

  “Too? You have met with another?”

  “There was a magician we hired for our convoy,” said Tahl. “I think she knew you. She said that’s what had happened to her Landholder.”

  Zara nodded.

  “Every Landholder in the Empire has the same dream,” she said. “Only some go about it with more patience than others. Yes, Aileth was my friend. Where did you meet her?”

  “Our convoy captain hired her on the road five days south of Talagh,” said Alnor. “She was going on north with the others when we turned off to come here.”

  “She has twice my powers, and she has come to that,” said Zara, and sighed and shook her head. “Well, my friends, now we must leave you. You already have a warding round you, so that you are not noticed unless you choose to be, and I do not think you will be closely sought. But it is otherwise with us. Lord Kzuva’s heirs will want vengeance for his death.”

  “That wasn’t your fault,” said Meena. “It was Varti’s.”

  “Yes,” said Lananeth, “but who will believe that? My life, and my husband’s, and all his household are forfeit, so we must go to him, and go quickly. There are no other magicians of any power this side of the Pirrim Hills, so between us Zara and I can perhaps defend us all. And I would like to defend our people still against what is loose in the Empire, just as we did with Varti, though he was doing it for his own purposes.”

  “I doubt we will be strong enough for that on our own,” said Zara.

  “What about the magician we met on the road?” said Tahl. “Aileth, didn’t you say her name was? She told Tilja that if there was work to be done, she would help.”

  “I will send to her,” said Zara, “but now . . .”

  “One moment,” said Alnor. “We’ve been hoping to meet a magician somewhere on the road who’d help us to close our Valley off again, as it used to be. We were told whoever it is would find us on the road, but they haven’t so far. Is it either of you?”

  “It is neither of us,” said Zara. “We do not have that kind of power. I do not know about Aileth.”

  Alnor turned to Tilja, an unspoken question in his eyes. And in Meena’s too, now. Tahl was deliberately not looking at her, but she knew the same thought was in his mind.

  “No,” she said sadly. “It’s supposed to be a man. Faheel talked about ‘he.’ ”

  “Well, good-bye, my dears,” said Lananeth. “What has happened is no more your fault than it is ours, and if ever you return you will be welcome under my roof, if it still stands. But you must not come there now. Go straight to Salata. Her husband, Gahan, has returned. He knows the hills to the north, and will guide you as far as the old road to the forest.”

  They all said their farewells and then Zara and Lananeth moved a little way up the road, followed by the two horses. They turned and faced the animals head-on. The horses bowed their heads. The two magicians, Lananeth glancing from time to time at Zara, like an apprentice following a master through some unfamiliar task, placed their hands on either side of the long skulls and lowered their own heads until the brows, horse and human, touched. Tilja felt nothing, but Meena and the boys reeled with the rush of magic as the human shapes shimmered, faded and vanished. The horses swung round, switched their tails and raced away up the road while Calico whinnied with distress at their going.

  17

  The Forest Edge

  In their haste to be home they made long marches, and in no more time than the shorter outward journey from El-lion’s house had taken them they reached Salata’s encampment. She and her daughters ran to meet them, full of welcome, and then of confusion when Salata found not the Meena she knew and longed to thank, but a lively girl less than half her own age, so her thanks were confused and doubtful.

  Her husband, Gahan, was a square, sturdy man who had been with his regiment in some western province at the time of the Emperor’s death. Like most of his comrades he had taken advantage of the confusion to desert, and had made his way home through the turmoil that followed the fall of the Watchers, and come through the Pirrim Hills before the waking of the pines. On the way he had seen enough horrors and marvels to be able to accept anything, so he could thank Meena more simply. He said he would be glad to take them as far as the old road that the Emperors had built bef
ore the sickness in the forest had closed the way north.

  Salata told them that a third magician had already reached Ellion’s house, and so it was safe from any attack for the time being.

  “It can’t be Aileth already,” said Tahl. “She’s right out on the Grand Trunk Road, and that’s days and days away, even for a galloping horse.”

  “It must depend on the magician,” said Tilja. “Faheel told me he could have gone to Talagh in an instant without me, and Zara said Aileth had twice her powers.”

  “You know what,” said Meena slowly. “I’m getting a feeling about all this—what’s been happening to us since we left the Valley. And before, I daresay. It’s felt like just one thing after another, no connection, but it wasn’t. It’s been all connected, like it was meant to happen. And the same with those three women at Ellion’s house. They haven’t just come there all on their own. They’re supposed to be there. I don’t know what for, no more than they do, but that’s what’s happening.”

  “Why don’t you ask your spoons?” said Salata. “I’d love to see them again.”

  Meena looked at her and sighed and shook her head. All the way north she had carried the spoons as before in the bag beneath her skirt. It would have been dangerous, of course, to try to use them, but she had never once even mentioned them. Partly, Tilja guessed, this was because they belonged in what Meena called her memory-room, and she didn’t go in there except for some definite purpose; but also, perhaps, there was a kind of grief involved. Axtrig had been alive, like a person, an old, old friend of the family. They had called her “she.” Now there was just this “it.” The old friend was dead.

  “Oh, please, Meena,” said Salata’s younger daughter. “I want Da to see.”

  Meena sighed again, shrugged and pulled out the bag, laid out the cloth and set the spoons on it. She picked up each of the darker ones and put them back, hesitated and picked up Axtrig. With another sigh she unstoppered the flask and rubbed a drop of oil onto the bowl. She laid the spoon down, leaned forward and concentrated.