Crown of Silence

by Constantine, Storm

  The group took lodgings in sheep farms along the way, and after two days were on the road to the lakes. Tayven and Taropat became more jittery, for the group would have to pass very close to Almorante’s retreat. Tayven professed he was uneasy because it was possible Almorante might be in residence, but privately Shan wondered whether his jumpiness was caused more by the recollection of what had happened there. As the journey progressed, he’d noticed a sharpness between Taropat and Tayven, emanating mainly from Tayven. He’d mentioned it to Merlan who’d said, ‘It’s obvious why. Khas won’t touch him. Hirantel feels slighted. He needs to be admired and wanted. I’m glad Khas has seen the light.’

  ‘He’s not Khaster anymore,’ Shan couldn’t help saying. ‘He’s Taropat. You should remember that, Merlan.’

  ‘Whatever you say, and whatever’s happened, he’s still my brother,’ Merlan answered. ‘He hasn’t changed that much.’

  Shan thought this might be wishful thinking on Merlan’s part. Altogether, they were not a convivial company. Shan felt he’d lost the closeness he’d enjoyed with his mentor, because the others were there. Merlan seemed to go out of his way to please his brother and was almost obsequious, which Shan could tell irritated Taropat, who wanted to be treated as a renowned magus, not as Khaster, the weak Caradorean. Tayven had immersed himself in a waspish gloom, constantly sniping at Taropat and being openly rude to Merlan, who cheerfully encouraged him, obviously taking pleasure in Tayven’s discomfort. Shan could see no purpose behind what they were doing. They were going through the motions. Surely they should have more of a bond than this? How could they undertake a spiritual quest together? The fire and zeal that Maycarpe had kindled within them at Akahana seemed to have faded away. Shan could not mention it, because he felt the others would simply turn on him. The past lay between them; a stagnant flood of unspoken words and unexpressed feelings.

  The first lake, Anterity, lay in full view of Almorante’s residence, which was perched on the hillside above it. The group had left their horses at a farm some miles to the east, and had made the last stage of the journey on foot. They anticipated that horses would not be able to reach the seventh lake, and their presence made the group more visible. Near Anterity, Tayven went on a scouting foray and reported he could see no sign that the residence was occupied, other than by the couple who looked after it for the prince. Still, it might be seen as suspicious if they were spotted camping near the lake, as Anterity was part of the estate. They decided to make camp in the woods nearby and would venture out to the lake after sundown.

  By the time they’d finished erecting their tents and preparing a meal, it was late afternoon. Taropat sat before their camp fire, turning the Dragon’s Eye in his hands, making it glitter with red sparks in the flickering light. Maycarpe had thought they would need to use the artefacts during the quest, and had handed the Eye over to Taropat with sombre ceremony. ‘Every site of this nature has a physical guardian,’ Taropat said, ‘as well as a spiritual guardian.’ He looked directly at Tayven. ‘Did Almorante contact the guardians when you first came here?’

  Tayven shrugged. ‘He didn’t attempt to contact any guardians, physical or spiritual, in particular. It was a different system, in which the lakes have particular elemental attributes. Almorante petitioned the elementals of each site to impart its essence to me. He spoke a lot of words, which I think he got out of a book.’

  ‘As I thought,’ said Taropat. ‘He only skimmed the surface. Our first task is to discover the physical guardian of the site, for only they can direct us to the spirit form. From them, we can learn the lesson of the lake.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of that,’ Tayven said. ‘Surely we have only to concentrate on the aspect of the lake, what it represents? If there is a spirit guardian out there, it will come to us. I’m not sure about there being physical guardians. Who would that be for Anterity? The housekeeper and her husband? Almorante himself?’

  ‘Anterity’s attribute is that of the red ray,’ Taropat said. ‘It stands for will and drive, for physical strength. We will have to find someone who typifies those things. They might not even know their function. They will live or work in the area, almost be part of the landscape itself.’

  ‘Won’t this be difficult at night?’ Merlan said. ‘They might not be wandering around after dark.’

  Taropat smiled patiently. ‘We have to trust in synchronicity,’ he said. ‘Haven’t you done that rather a lot already?’

  Merlan looked away.

  ‘I have waited for this day a long time,’ Taropat said softly, and Shan realised he was not referring to himself as Khaster. He shivered involuntarily. Taropat’s tone had suggested, or revealed, far more than he knew. It was as if he had a known that one day he’d return to Recolletine. A wave of paranoia swept through Shan’s body. Could it have been more than coincidence that he’d been sent to Mewt and had there met Merlan, Maycarpe and Tayven? Was it possible that the magical training he’d had through Taropat had led always to this point?

  ‘Shan,’ Taropat said, ‘Give me the Claw for a moment.’

  When Shan didn’t respond immediately, Taropat fixed him with a hard glance and held out his free hand. ‘I won’t break it,’ he said.

  Reluctantly, Shan handed the artefact over. He watched with discomfort as Taropat gazed meditatively at the artefacts in his hands, the firelight illuminating his face. Should I trust this man at all? Shan wondered. Has he used me throughout? I don’t know him, not really.

  It was obvious that Taropat knew a lot about the lakes, yet in the story he’d told of his life as Khaster, it was clear that then he’d known nothing. So he must have researched it since. Why? Had Sinaclara given him the information when she’d visited Taropat’s house while Tayven was there? He also seemed quite aware of the legend of the Dragon’s Eye, an artefact he appeared to have had no knowledge of before. It was possible, of course, that this was knowledge bequeathed by the original Taropat, but still Shan felt uneasy.

  I must watch him, he thought, watch him carefully.

  The sunset that night was extraordinarily bloody, the sky daubed with a hectic palate of crimsons and scarlets, while the sun itself was a bloated red globe, too heavy to hang in the sky. Shan saw this as an omen for what was to come. His mouth felt dry and he was aware of a slight queasiness in his stomach. If he really was the warrior of the company, then, of all the lakes, Anterity was the most important to him. Red was the colour of the warrior, the colour of war itself.

  A single light burned in a ground floor window of Almorante’s lodge, but otherwise the landscape was empty of human presences. Shan was acutely aware of the immensity of the mountains around them. The land seemed to thrum with energy, as if it was barely contained by the huge forests, ancient rock and undulating hillsides. Perhaps what they planned to do that night would unleash that slumbering power.

  Once it was truly dark, the group emerged from their hiding-place. As soon as they left the cover of the trees, they could hear the faint hissing and bubbling of Anterity’s hot springs.

  ‘There’s no one here,’ Tayven said, rubbing his arms. ‘There was never anyone here.’

  Taropat did not reply. He went to stand at the edge of the lake, where the mud was red and sucking. Toads croaked softly but could not be seen.

  Shan glanced up at the Retreat and shivered. The past seemed close that night. Perhaps, in the upper rooms, ghosts walked. Taropat must feel something, whatever he’d become or learned. Yet he seemed detached, totally in control of himself. Shan considered that Taropat was becoming more like Lord Maycarpe, which perhaps was due to him handling the Dragon’s Eye. But was anyone else sharing these doubts? Shan was still wary of Tayven, but perhaps Taropat’s own brother could shed some light on the situation. Shan edged close to him and spoke in a whisper. ‘Merlan, is it possible Maycarpe has been in touch with Taropat for some time without you knowing?’

  Merlan’s head moved towards his against the starlight. ‘No! What makes you think that?�
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  Shan murmured, ‘I don’t know. I just get the impression our quest here has been under consideration for a long time.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you’re getting at.’

  ‘Taropat knows so much about what we’re supposed to do. Did he have time in Akahana to be so thoroughly taught in the subject?’

  Merlan considered for a while, then whispered, ‘No, it’s not possible. If Maycarpe knew my brother was alive, he’d have told me.’

  Privately, Shan wondered about that.

  Taropat’s voice summoned them to the task ahead. ‘Close your eyes,’ he said. ‘Forget the building above us, for whoever is there will not, cannot, see us. You must apply yourselves totally to what we must do.’

  Shan closed his eyes and, rather than being immersed immediately in an inner landscape, as he was used to, he became more aware of their physical surroundings. They were vulnerable. Anything could creep up to them undetected.

  ‘We must conjure the spiritual landscape of Anterity,’ Taropat said. ‘We need no invocations for this, no words. Imagine the lake as you last saw it, steam rising from it to the stars. You can smell sulphur. See the rocks rearing up from the water, the spears of reeds. Now, I want you to imagine it turning to metal. The reeds are twisted spars of rusty iron. The lake is mercury, the rocks are impenetrable lead. Everything is hot and smoking and tinged with red. Concentrate on this image.’

  Shan found it easy to visualise the scene. It was almost as if this was the way the landscape wished to be viewed. The island in the middle of the lake was a forest of rusting metal rods, contorted and twisted, encrusted with strange mineral growths. He felt that someone was watching him from there.

  After a few minutes, Taropat bid them open their eyes again. The landscape appeared slightly different to Shan now, as if a phantom of the imagined scene was laid over it. Taropat stared at the island, his eyes narrow.

  ‘There is no one here,’ Tayven said again. ‘This is not the right way.’

  Taropat ignored him and set off along the lake shore. Merlan and Shan followed him. Uttering another disparaging remark, Tayven went after them.

  A thick forest of thorny shrubs and trees obscured the left bank of the lake, but there were animal trails through them, which if you didn’t mind being tugged at by thorns could be carefully negotiated. Taropat strode into the scrub with apparent determination. He moved through the spiky branches with ease, while his companions constantly had to untangle themselves. After only a few minutes, Shan’s hands and face were smarting from a dozen scratches. ‘What is the point of this?’ Tayven hissed to Shan. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s doing.’

  Like Taropat, Shan thought it best to ignore Tayven’s comments. Perhaps it was part of Tayven’s role in the group to be the dissenter, the doubter. Although Shan himself had doubts, they were certainly not about Taropat’s ability to guide them. On the contrary, Taropat seemed almost too adept at that. Shan wished he had the courage, like Tayven, to voice his suspicions. If this cowardice haunted his heart, how could he ever hope to be a true warrior?

  Merlan was ahead of Shan, but now he paused, his head to one side. ‘What’s that noise?’ Taropat had disappeared around a bend in the narrow path.

  Shan and Tayven stopped walking. Shan heard a rhythmic low ringing sound, as of metal being beaten. He shook his head. ‘It sounds like a hammer,’ he said. ‘A smith’s hammer.’

  They continued along the path and presently emerged into a small clearing. Here, there was a rough shed with a lean-to, where a furnace roared, shedding light. Before it, as Shan had guessed, a big man stood beating a metal bar with a hammer.

  ‘This was not here before,’ Tayven said. ‘I’m sure it wasn’t.’

  ‘How could you tell?’ Merlan asked. ‘Did you explore all these woods before? This place must be fairly hidden from view.’

  ‘I would have heard it,’ Tayven said. ‘Surely?’

  Taropat stood with folded arms, watching the smith at work. The big man did not cease his labour or even look up. He exuded an air of wishing to be left alone. Wouldn’t he think it strange, if not sinister, four men coming upon him at night? Yet he gave no sign of being discomforted. Shan imagined he was thinking that if he ignored the interlopers for long enough, they’d go away. The noise of the hammer was deafening. Shan’s head became filled with it, until he could hardly bear it. He wanted to hit something. The sound made him angry. The sight of the smith’s hostile face made him angry. Here was a man who forged weapons for the empire. He had to. Didn’t he live and work on Almorante’s land? Perhaps he had even fashioned the weapons that had killed the villagers of Holme. A spurt of rage flowed through Shan’s heart. I would like to kill that man, he thought, and the intention to take revenge was as strong and focused as the flames of the forge fire. As quickly as it came, the rage subsided, but the intensity of the feeling shocked Shan. It must have been the influence of the spirit of Anterity. He must not let such feelings take hold of him, otherwise he would be no better than the Magravandians themselves.

  Eventually the smith ceased his work long enough to wipe sweat from his brow and in the silence Taropat said, ‘Sir, may I speak with you?’

  The smith looked directly at him and grunted in a surly manner.

  ‘We are investigating the Seven Lakes and their legends,’ Taropat said, clearly taking the grunt for assent. ‘You may be able to help us, seeing as you live and work so close to Anterity. I am prepared to pay for any information you may give us.’

  The smith continued to examine Taropat for some moments, then cast his eyes over the others. ‘This is Prince Almorante’s land,’ he said at last.

  ‘We are aware of that, as we are known to his highness,’ Taropat said. ‘I have stayed here before in the Retreat. It is a beautiful spot.’

  ‘Strange time to be doing your investigating,’ said the smith and beat at the anvil a few more times, during which Taropat could not reply for he would not be heard.

  When he was able, Taropat said, ‘I could say it is a strange time for a man to be working at his forge. Like you, we see all times of day as equally useful for both labour and investigation. We get more of a feel of the landscape at night.’

  ‘It comes into itself at night,’ said the smith.

  Taropat took his purse from his belt and shook out what to Shan looked like an inordinately generous number of coins. He offered them to the smith. ‘For your time,’ said Taropat. ‘What can you tell us of Lake Anterity?’

  ‘Like all places of great age, there are many legends,’ said the smith, taking the coins and stuffing them into a pocket of his leather apron. ‘Some of them were invented solely to scare children, others are older.’

  ‘It is the older ones we are interested in,’ said Taropat.

  The smith nodded and bade his visitors be seated on the ground. He himself sat on a great round stone near the forge fire. He folded his thick arms and began: ‘It is said that in olden days, there was a forge on the island, where a fire lizard crafted weapons. These swords and spears were magical, and whoever bore them would kill any foe who attacked him, or indeed anyone he wanted to attack. But the weapons came dear. The lizard would name high prices for its wares, such as a man’s firstborn son, or his left hand, or an eye.

  ‘One day, a knight came to the island and the lizard asked him for the soul of his girl-wife. The knight thought this was too high a price, but he had come to the lizard because he was threatened by a very powerful enemy. The knight was in sore need of a magical fire sword to defeat his foe. He was responsible for the people who worked his land and knew he had a duty to defeat the enemy. So, after some minutes of troubled thought, he agreed to the lizard’s price and stood watching as the creature made the weapon. It was a beautiful sword, shining like the setting sun with blood red rays. The lizard held it out, pommel first, to the knight and said, ‘Now, my lord, you must make the oath of payment.’ The knight took the sword and held it in his hand. He could feel its power
coursing up his arm. He thought of his enemy and smiled. Then he thought of his beautiful girl-wife, and with a loud cry, swung the weapon and lopped off the lizard’s head.

  ‘Losing no time, the knight took the lizard’s head to a sorcerer, who encased it in magical ice for him. So the lizard was no more.

  ‘Before he went to deal with his enemy, the knight hid the head in a high room in his castle, which he secured with seven locked doors and seven staircases. His wife he bade keep away from that part of the castle, but she was a curious girl and could not resist finding out what her husband guarded so carefully. After the knight and his company had ridden out to quash the enemy, the girl crept into the forbidden area. She used pins from her pale hair to pick the locks and stole up the staircases. At the top, she came upon a bare room, where, within a niche in the wall, was the block of ice. Her beauty was so great that the ice melted at once and the lizard head spoke to her. It begged her to return it to the island of Anterity, and said that if she did so, it would grant her never-fading beauty. The girl agreed readily, and took up the lizard’s head, which she hid beneath her shawl. She scurried out to the stables and demanded her horse be made ready for her. Then she rode madly away towards the north.

  ‘Once back at the island, the lizard head asked to be placed next to its body, which still lay beside its forge. At once, the head and body rejoined, and the lizard was whole. It turned to the girl and licked her with its long hot tongue. It turned her soft flesh to metal, preserving her youthful beauty for eternity. But she could not speak, nor move. She was a statue of iron.

  ‘The knight returned from his battle victorious to find both his wife and the lizard head gone. He rushed to the lake, but there were no boats to cross. He could see his wife standing on the edge of the island, still as death. Crying out in horror, he attempted to swim through the lake to save her, but his armour was too heavy and he drowned. Some say he can still be seen on certain nights. His armour was stained red by the waters of the lake.’