Crown of Silence

by Constantine, Storm

  There was a moment’s silence when the smith finished speaking. Perhaps unnerved by the apparent lack of response, he said, ‘That is one legend of many. Do you want more?’

  Taropat shook his head. ‘That was the one we wished to hear.’ He stood up. ‘May we go to the island?’

  ‘There are no boats save mine,’ said the smith. ‘You may use it, gladly, but I must warn you it is considered bad luck to walk the ground there. The lizard is wary of visitors and justifiably so. If you believe in such nonsense, of course.’

  ‘We are fully prepared for the risks,’ said Taropat. ‘And we intend to respect the lizard’s domain, whether he still haunts it or not.’

  ‘I can see that,’ said the smith curtly and jerked his head to the left. ‘The boat’s moored under that twiggy willow. Help yourself.’

  Once they were in the boat, Taropat took up the oars. ‘You see,’ he said to Tayven, with a hint of smugness, ‘we found the guardian. Now we are on our way to visit the spirit of the place, which appears to be a salamander.’

  Tayven nodded, his mouth pulled into a grudging smile. ‘Your methods are odd, but I admit that if Anterity should have a guardian, a smith would be the ideal archetype for it. I’ll keep an open mind about the rest.’

  ‘Did Almorante know none of this?’ Merlan asked. ‘Surely these legends are widely known?’

  ‘When Almorante attempted his invocations here, he used the elemental correspondence system rather than that of the colour rays,’ Tayven said. ‘He’s too much the product of the empire’s dogma. To him, this was the lake of metal, rather than fire. But, as denizens of the forge, he did address the elemental beings of fire, which of course are salamanders. So the smith’s story does make sense. I’ve just never heard it before. Part of me believes it didn’t actually exist before tonight.’

  ‘He might well have made up the story just to take my money,’ said Taropat, ‘but that really doesn’t matter. We have to trust in coincidence. That legend, real or not, was the first thing the smith told us and it fits neatly into our task.’

  While the others discussed the smith and his story, Shan stared at the island. He closed his eyes briefly and an image came to him of a red knight standing on the shore, leaning on a flaming sword. He opened his eyes quickly, but the island was dark and empty. Was the red knight an aspect of himself? The knight of the legend had learned, bitterly, that might was not enough, yet what more than might did Shan have? He had been trained magically to a degree, but it had been made clear to him that his was not the role of the mystic. He was aware of the beat of blood in his veins, the anger that simmered beneath the surface. There was no red knight. The smith had made the story up to part gullible Taropat from his money.

  ‘We shouldn’t go to the island,’ he said quietly.

  The silence that followed this statement made him realise he could not have spoken as softly as he’d intended.

  ‘What is it, Shan?’ Taropat asked, the oars motionless in his hands.

  Shan shook his head. ‘We should take action. There’s nothing to be gained from quiet meditation. If the lesson of Anterity is connected with fire and war, why don’t we burn Almorante’s Retreat?’

  He noticed Taropat turn to Merlan, who shrugged. ‘We are not here to commit arson but to undergo a spiritual quest,’ Taropat said, ‘attractive though the idea of arson may be.’

  Shan found himself on his feet. His body was acting beyond his volition. ‘Go back!’ he cried. ‘Row to the shore. We must avenge the death of Holme! The smith warmonger should be gutted with his own creations!’

  ‘Sit down,’ Taropat said calmly. ‘You are rocking the boat.’

  A part of Shan could only watch with dismal horror as another, alien part of himself lunged towards Taropat, intent on causing pain.

  ‘Enough!’ Taropat yelled before Shan touched him. ‘Get a grip of yourself, Shan.’

  Shan froze.

  ‘It’s Anterity,’ Tayven murmured. ‘It’s affecting him.’

  ‘No excuse,’ Taropat declared. ‘Shan, you are no longer a fretful child. Act your age. If you don’t, I might as well throw you overboard and leave you to drown in the lake. What you’re feeling now is nothing compared to what is to come. The warrior is useless if he is ruled by his base emotions.’

  Shan’s anger subsided and he felt the heat of embarrassment rise in his face. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, sitting down. ‘Somethingc something happenedc’

  ‘You were weak,’ Taropat snapped. ‘Have you learned nothing from me?’

  ‘Don’t be harsh on him,’ Tayven said. ‘It’s obvious Anterity would affect Shan the most. Also, he has a point about the smith. He probably does make weapons for Almorante.’

  ‘Almorante did not sack Holme,’ Taropat said. ‘Shan knows that. He’s being stupid.’

  Shan sat with lowered head, filled with shame and also conflicting thoughts and feelings. Some part of him still trusted Taropat, but at that moment he could only think of Sinaclara. He thought he’d failed her in some way. Yet, if she was here, she’d have been aware, as Tayven was, of the hurt that lingered inside him over the loss of his family. Taropat wouldn’t even consider that. Sympathy was beyond him.

  Between them, the company pulled the boat onto the shore of the island. It seemed that nobody had trodden there for many years. Birds nesting in the undergrowth woke up and uttered eerie cries as the party intruded into their domain, but there were no lizards to be seen. Taropat lit a torch and led them to the centre of the island, and here they found a cube of uncorroded metal, about a foot square, set into the ground. ‘Is this all that remains of the salamander’s forge, I wonder?’ murmured Taropat.

  Shan shivered. He felt their presence was unwelcome to the guardian of the site, but that his personal presence was especially so, and not only to the guardian.

  ‘We must make a gift,’ Taropat said. ‘Tayven, your knife, if you please. The only fitting boon here is blood.’ He stuck the torch in the soft ground.

  ‘Remember the last time, at Maycarpe’s?’ Merlan murmured to Shan.

  ‘The beginning of it all,’ Shan replied, then added, ‘or was it?’ He forced himself to look at Taropat, who stared back blandly in the flickering light of the torch and took the knife from Tayven.

  As Taropat cut himself and let the blood drip onto the metal cube, he intoned, ‘Guardian of Anterity, we come to you in trust and peace. Accept our offerings and give to us the knowledge of this site.’ He passed the knife to Tayven, who made the offering and then passed the blade to Shan.

  Shan stared at the knife for a moment, fully aware of what he must do. He saw himself applying the blade to his forearm, the blood dripping down. But then another image came to him. Before he was fully aware of his actions, he had torn open the front of his shirt and slashed his own chest, a gash some six inches long. When he realised what he’d done, he uttered a groaning sob. Tayven and Merlan looked on in astonishment, but Taropat only raised a hand and shook his head, clearly to stem any remarks.

  ‘Give the knife to Merlan, Shan,’ he said.

  Shan was close to weeping. What was happening to him? It was as if some war spirit of the site possessed him and he was too disorientated to take control of it.

  Once Merlan had made the offering, Taropat said, ‘We must meditate. Invite the guardian to you and ask for his knowledge.’

  As he composed himself cross-legged in the circle of his companions, Shan felt as if his spirit was leaving his body. Reality was fraying all around him. He closed his eyes and became acutely conscious of the sting of the wound on his chest. The Red Knight stood just beyond their circle, leaning on the flaming sword. The knight neither spoke nor moved, and his face was hidden by his helm, which was fashioned in the semblance of a firedrake. The sword exuded a thick smoke, which eventually obscured the image of the man. Gradually, it condensed into the form of a tall, yet stooped quasi-human lizard. Like the smith beside the lake, it wore a long leather apron and in its taloned s
caly fingers, it held a hammer. The creature fixed Shan with one of its blazing yellow eyes and its tongue flicked out, black, and dripping a steaming ichor. In his mind, Shan spoke to this vision. He tried to show it his heart, his true intention. He was not like the red knight. He was willing to pay the price to conquer his enemies. The lizard hissed and held out its hands, as if to offer something. The hammer it held had transformed into a flaming brand. Almost immediately, Shan’s body was filled with a zinging sensation, which made him gasp aloud. He was the red knight, clad in burning armour. He was rampaging across a field of slaughter striking out with a sword that dripped gore. Magravandian soldiers fell into the bloody mud around him. He hacked off limbs, severed heads, all the while screaming with rage and lust. In his head rang the distant memories of the screams of the people of Holme. He had become their voice: a single shriek of vengeance. Then, in an instant, everything went calm. He found himself back on the island, standing before a forge, where the lizard smith worked at the bellows. ‘Boy, you must temper the discord within you,’ it hissed. ‘For if you do not, you can never be the true warrior and overcome those who would be the master race. Resentment and vengeance makes nothing but slaves.’

  Shan dropped to his knees before the lizard. His body was still encased in the red armour and it was coloured by blood, not rust. ‘Give me the lesson of the lake,’ he said. ‘Help me, wise one.’

  The lizard pulled a sword from the forge fire. Its blade glowed like a living ruby. Then, with a hiss, the creature sprang forward. Shan saw the sword swooping towards him, then his vision reeled as if he was flying through the air. The sky spun around him. He saw the trees upside-down, the lake below. There was the island, where a headless body lay beside the forge. He uttered a scream of terror, then again everything became still. The armour lying below by the forge was empty. There was no body in it. He did not possess a corporeal form now. All that remained was his essence, the will to triumph and overcome the injustice of the Magravandian empire, without anger or bitterness, but with courage, affirmation and action. He remembered the visions he’d experienced after the festival of Aya’even. Affirm, Sinaclara had told him, and now he could.

  He was kneeling naked before the lizard smith. The lizard held out a flaming brand to him and he took it. Its fire filled his mind.

  Shan could not help but open his eyes and saw his companions staring at him in the flickering torchlight.

  ‘Speak,’ said Taropat. ‘What happened?’

  ‘You’ve been out for some minutes,’ Merlan said. ‘Are you all right?’

  Shan nodded. ‘Yes. Some minutes, you say? It felt like seconds. I saw the knight, and then the salamander came to me.’ He told them what he’d seen. ‘I have the knowledge now. It’s incredible. I feel it. Did anyone else experience it?’

  ‘No,’ said Taropat. ‘The guardian chose only to communicate with you. What did he say?’

  ‘Nothing much in words, but the lesson of Anterity is that I have a body, but I am not my body. Strength of will is not physical but mental. Anterity is drive and determination. I think the flaming brand symbolises Anterity’s attribute. The fire is the will, the will to overcome, not to conquer and repeat the cycle of hatred. We shall only triumph if we affirm our own suffering as our responsibility. We will triumph once we can take action and relinquish reaction.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Taropat. ‘You have learned well, Shan. Through you, we all have the essence of Anterity within us. Each of the lakes will have a different message, and it may be that only one of us will connect with the individual influences directly.’ He stood up. ‘We must go back to our camp and sleep. The first part of the quest is over.’

  When they returned to the mainland, they found that the smith had shut up his forge, which stood dark and empty. It looked as if no-one had worked there for years and they left the area quickly.

  Back at their camp, Merlan revived their small fire and set about making them some tea. Taropat took out his pipe and settled himself on the ground, contemplating the rustling darkness of the forest canopy.

  ‘So you are truly the warrior,’ Tayven said to Shan.

  Shan shrugged. ‘I’m sure it requires more than that,’ he said. ‘It’s as if I’ve been given a small piece of knowledge, which I have yet to actually practice. Perhaps it will help me fulfil my ultimate potential.’

  ‘So speaks the magician’s apprentice,’ Tayven said light-heartedly. ‘You must also learn not to take everything so seriously.’ He clasped his knees. ‘Helayna should come here. I’m sure it would replenish her fire. She favours the aspect of the female warrior.’

  ‘She sounds a fascinating woman,’ said Shan.

  ‘She is. I hope she’s fared well since Ashalan deserted her. She’ll hide her feelings, but I’m sure the way he caved in cut her to the quick.’

  ‘Was Ashalan right to do what he did?’

  Tayven poked a stick into the fire. ‘He knew he could no longer fulfil the role he’d started out with. He’d become physically weak, but his mind is still acute and agile. No doubt the role he’s now chosen for himself is the best one. No one yet knows which way the cards will fall when Leonid goes.’

  ‘Is that imminent, do you think?’

  ‘Not if nature has anything to do with it, I’m sure. But we can all feel the flexing of the dragons’ bones. Change is in the air. Who knows what form that will take?’

  ‘Part of it is us here, now,’ said Taropat, who had apparently been paying attention to their conversation. ‘The Claw of the dragon is ready to strike, the Eye to see.’ He turned to Tayven. ‘What is the shortest time, in your opinion, that we could take to visit all the sites?’

  ‘We could visit the first six in a couple of days,’ Tayven replied, ‘if we really pushed ourselves, but it would exhaust us. As for the seventh, who can tell? We don’t even know if it’s really there. Why?’

  ‘Eat and sleep well tonight, and make the most of it. We must fast for the next couple of days. We must not rest.’

  ‘Is that a mandatory aspect of our quest or something you thought up yourself?’ Tayven asked.

  ‘You should know,’ Taropat said stiffly, ‘that physical deprivation heightens awareness. I’m sure all of you can appreciate how this will be useful.’

  ‘Won’t we need our strength for the journey, though?’ Shan said. ‘Going without food or sleep will weaken us.’

  ‘You will be surprised what reserves of strength you can find,’ Taropat answered.

  Just before dawn, they struck camp and made haste past Lake Anterity towards their next destination. Looking up, Shan saw the housekeeper of the retreat pegging out washing in the pearly twilight. She must have been up all night. Huge sails of sheeting hung listlessly from the ranks of lines, for there was no wind. Perhaps the big wash indicated Almorante was coming to stay at his lodge for a while. Shan shuddered. Coincidence would make it so.

  It took only an hour to reach the next lake, Oolarn. This, Taropat explained, was the lake of the orange ray, concerned wholly with knowledge, facts and logic, the inquiring mind. ‘Almorante had it all wrong,’ he said. ‘He tried to fit the lakes into the framework of the ancient Magravandian belief system, but really they conform to a more eastern system. I have investigated the subject thoroughly and there’s little doubt in my mind that Jessapurian and Mewtish mystics shared their knowledge with early Magravandian mages. In fact, you could say that the whole western system developed from that union.’

  ‘The lakes could conform to both systems,’ Tayven said. ‘The elemental correspondences work as well.’

  ‘But it is not the whole story,’ Taropat argued, with emphatic hand gestures. ‘All other correspondences spring from the colour energy of each site.’

  ‘Are you saying that the work I did is irrelevant, then?’ Tayven snapped. ‘You knew nothing about these sites the last time we came here.’

  ‘I don’t dismiss your work,’ Taropat said. ‘I just know there’s more to it than you or Almor
ante saw.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Shan demanded, hands on hips. ‘Where does your knowledge come from? Sinaclara?’

  ‘You dare to question me?’ Taropat sounded incredulous rather than angry.

  ‘Stop bickering,’ Merlan said. ‘Look, there is Oolarn.’

  They had emerged from a forest path into another open hilly area. The lake was larger than Anterity and its placid surface swarmed with water birds. It was cupped on two sides by bare crags tufted with birds’ nests. The area was far from being desolate and unpopulated. A small village was situated close to the lake and a network of wooden jetties spread out into it. Boats bobbed alongside them.

  ‘This is the air site,’ Tayven told Shan and Merlan. ‘Here, Almorante invoked the sylphs, the air spirits.’

  ‘An aspect of mercurial orange,’ Taropat said.

  Shan was feeling extremely hungry, but Taropat insisted they should only drink water. ‘For this to work to best effect, we need to be in an altered state of consciousness,’ he said. ‘The physical deprivation will open our minds to possibilities that might otherwise remain hidden.’

  ‘He means we will be hallucinating with exhaustion and starvation by the time we drag ourselves to the sixth lake,’ Tayven said dryly.

  ‘Do you still disagree with this?’ Taropat said.

  Tayven shook his head. ‘No, I can see the sense of it. I hope we’re up to it, that’s all.’

  ‘Is everyone else comfortable with this procedure?’

  Merlan and Shan exchanged a glance, then gave their assent. Shan felt they had little choice in the matter.

  ‘Before we go any further, we must conjure the mystical landscape of Oolarn,’ Taropat said. ‘Sit down, all of you. Close your eyes. Breathe deep.’

  They sat in a field of feathery grasses that swept down to the lakeside. The visualised scenery was in fact not that different from the reality. Taropat described high windswept crags, where the air was in constant motion. Tall narrow temples were surrounded by mist and winged bird-people swept from pinnacle to pinnacle. Strangely, Shan found vaguely erotic images coming to him. He visualised beautiful swooping women, with feathered breasts and yellow, predator’s eyes. The image aroused him. When he opened his eyes, he almost expected to see winged women skimming the surface of the lake and felt slightly guilty for his lascivious thoughts. He wondered whether the lake would have special significance for someone else in the group, as Anterity had done for him, but no one seemed to have picked up anything of significance. Shan did not mention his bird women. No doubt Taropat would scold him for being base and immature, and remind him that, as the warrior of the group, he was supposed to represent the epitome of chivalric valour.