The path out of the valley was littered with sharp stones, which soon made short work of the cloth Tayven had wrapped around his bootless foot. The places where the leeches had attached themselves itched abominably. ‘I’ve lost all sense of time,’ Tayven said. ‘Is it afternoon yet?’
‘I would tell you if I could,’ Taropat answered, ‘but the last time I took my watch out, I noticed it had stopped. That was at eleven. It seems hours ago, but I can’t be sure.’
‘I don’t relish reaching Rubezal after dark,’ Tayven said.
Merlan uttered a hollow, chilling laugh.
‘Use the Eye,’ Shan said to Taropat. ‘Perhaps you can see something in it.’
Taropat shook his head. ‘It’s not a compass, Shan. We have to find our own way.’
They entered a high narrow chasm, where only a few stringy shrubs grew from the grey rock, but then the path turned a corner and a vast expanse of water and swamp lay before them. Trees grew around it and from within it – immense stately willows pouring their foliate hair into the water. Their leaves were yellow rather than green and their barks were hung with garlands of creepers and moss. The sky above was colourless and heavy, while the waters themselves looked black like oil. There were no water birds present, but bedraggled crows roosted in the willows.
‘Rubezal,’ Tayven said, ‘we’re here.’
‘Makes Malarena look like an idyll,’ Shan said, putting down his backpack.
Merlan slumped to the ground and sat with raised knees, his hands pressed against his eyes.
‘Nothing like a show of morale,’ Taropat muttered, taking out his water flask.
‘This is the lake of inspiration,’ Tayven said, glancing at Merlan.
Shan snorted. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. You can see it if you try. It’s a matter of perception. Here, ideas are born from the cauldron of the dark mother. It is the lake of spirit, but also of self-delusion.’
‘What do you mean?’ Shan asked.
‘All self-delusions will confront you here. You’ll either overcome them or fail in the quest.’
‘Is that what happened to Almorante?’ Taropat enquired rather acidly.
Tayven did not reply directly. For a few moments, he stared into the inky water. ‘I remember that being overcome by the dark beauty of this place feltc strange. I’m sure Almorante felt it too.’
‘If you half close your eyes, the place does have a strange beauty,’ Taropat said.
Tayven walked to the water’s edge. ‘The water is black and fecund,’ he said. ‘The secret to Pancanara lies hidden here. Ic’ He paused. ‘We couldn’t find it before.’ He turned back to the others, gazing particularly at Merlan. ‘We shouldn’t be afraid, for if we are it is only fear of the unknown, of the occult and mysterious. We should embrace it, let go enough to be prepared for anything.’
‘Sounds as though you’re glad to be back,’ Taropat said.
‘It is right this time,’ Tayven answered. ‘Shall we perform the first meditation now?’
They sat down by Merlan.
‘We really are going into the unknown,’ Taropat said softly. ‘What lies beyond here? Pancanara, success? What are the alternatives?’ He fell silent, and the only sound was the soft lisp of the wind among the sedges and the occasional caw of a crow. ‘See the landscape of Rubezal in your mind,’ Taropat murmured. ‘The mist, the reeds, the trees, the marsh, the still tracts of water. Overhead, great vultures are circling in the empty sky, but silently. As we peer into the fog, we see shapes protruding from the water. Gradually, we realise they are corpses, some in armour, their skeletal arms still holding swords aloft. Others are mere shapeless masses of rags. These are the ones who failed here.’ He paused a moment and then said in a loud voice, ‘We call upon the guardian of Rubezal. We are seekers in truth. We call upon you. Come to us. Reveal to us the guardian of this place.’
In his mind, Tayven saw shadowy shapes emerging from the mist. They were seekers who had come to this place before them: knights, mystics, priests, priestesses, witches and shamans. The eyes of some were dead, empty, while others were only skeletal corpses, and had no eyes at all. Were these sad wraiths the guardians of Rubezal? The last time he’d been there, Tayven had visualised a very different aspect of the lake. It had been the realm of the crone, stirring ideas in her black pot. She had spoken to him while he’d been in trance, but there was no sign of her now. What had she said before? ‘You are brother to the king.’ He had taken that to mean his relationship with Almorante, and that it was a prophecy Almorante would one day take the throne of Magrast. Almorante had liked that, suddenly convinced their quest was over and they’d been given the information he had been seeking all along. Tayven hadn’t thought otherwise at the time, but in retrospect he wondered whether he’d been right. Had Almorante failed to overcome his deepest illusion about himself? But his last visit hadn’t been like this. Perhaps their meditation had been too simple and the true spiritual aspects of the site had remained in hiding.
Tayven heard a sound. Vultures? He opened his eyes. No, not the caw of birds. It was human laughter. He saw a ragged figure capering about nearby. He could not tell whether it was male or female. Its hair was a mess of tangles and twigs, its clothes mere rags tied together to create a weird fluttering robe. It carried a tall twisted staff and its feet were bound with flaking scraps of hide and fur.
Tayven glanced at Taropat and saw that his eyes were also open. Merlan’s head was drooping towards his chest, his hair falling over his face, while Shan’s face was screwed up in concentration.
‘Open your eyes, all of you,’ Taropat said in a low voice.
Merlan did not raise his head.
The strange figure hopped towards them in an odd, crablike manner. It turned its head from side to side like a bird. Tayven saw that its matted hair was pinioned with stiff black and white feathers. From the scrawny naked chest revealed by the rents in its robes, it was still not clear whether this was a man or a woman. Its age was also indeterminate.
Taropat stood up, along with Tayven and Shan. ‘Are you the guardian of this site?’
The figure cackled and brandished its staff in Taropat’s direction. ‘You can’t breathe, can you? Want to breathe.’
‘We seek the knowledge of Rubezal,’ said Taropat patiently. ‘Tell us your name.’
The figure ceased laughing and tramped through the marsh towards them. ‘They all want knowledge,’ it said. ‘That’s why they come. I watch them. I’m Goodgog. What have you got for me?’
‘We have coins,’ Taropat said. ‘Will you help us?’
‘We’ll have to see,’ Goodgog replied, somewhat loftily. ‘Isn’t my choice. The serpent will decide. Then it might let you breathe. It’s been waiting a long time. Give me a coin.’
Taropat took out his purse and offered a bronze sickin to the guardian. It wrinkled up its face. ‘Not that. I only eat gold, or maybe silver.’
‘I don’t have gold,’ Taropat said, ‘but I do have silver.’ He offered the guardian another coin.
The guardian took it, sniffed it, then swallowed it. ‘Good,’ it said. ‘That’s better. Clears the sight, silver does.’ It peered at Taropat’s companions. ‘What pretty creatures. Are they for the serpent?’
‘We are all here to seek knowledge,’ Taropat said.
‘Oh,’ answered Goodgog in some disappointment. ‘Better drowned. More pretty then.’
‘Is the serpent the spirit of this place?’ Taropat said. ‘What shall we offer it?’
‘Not for you to decide,’ answered the guardian. ‘It takes what it wants, your life or your soul or your sanity. I like to watch.’
‘Hmm,’ said Taropat. ‘We intend to pass on from here with those attributes intact.’
‘Then you must fight him,’ said Goodgog. ‘But when you do he’ll take the form most likely to squash you flat. That is the way.’
‘If we vanquish the serpent, may we pass to Pancanara?’ Taropat asked.
The ma
d creature laughed. ‘If you vanquish the serpent, I’ll take you there myself. Otherwise I’ll feast on your bones. It’s all one to me.’
‘The lake exists, then?’ Shan said. ‘It’s a physical place?’
‘Why are you here?’ Goodgog snapped. ‘Because there is no seventh lake?’ The guardian uttered a snort of derision. ‘Course it exists. No one goes there, though. No one passes beyond Rubezal, not since the days of the great king. I wasn’t here then, but the place remembers.’
‘Have you been there?’ Tayven asked.
‘I know the path,’ said Goodgog. ‘That’s enough.’
‘But you haven’t actually seen it.’
The guardian shook its staff in Tayven’s face. ‘Shut up, boy! What do you know? You’ll be dead in a moment. The serpent’ll have you. He likes tender flesh. I like to watch.’
‘What must we do to invoke the serpent?’ Taropat said.
‘Invoke him?’ Again the guardian laughed. ‘He’s already here. Walk out into the marsh a short way and invite him to eat you. He’ll be up from the depths soon enough.’
Tayven glanced at Merlan. He did not think he would be strong enough to confront the spirit of Rubezal.
Taropat clearly had no such considerations. ‘On your feet, Merlan,’ he said. ‘We’re nearly there.’
‘Taropat,’ Tayven said softly, shaking his head significantly.
‘What?’ said Taropat.
‘He can’t.’
‘Why not? He got this far.’
‘It’s up to Merlan,’ Shan said. ‘Only he can decide.’
Merlan raised his head. His expression was utterly without hope. ‘I will go to the serpent,’ he said.
‘Merlan, no!’ Tayven protested. ‘You’ll have to fight for your life, your sanity. Can you do that?’
‘Do I want to?’ Merlan said.
Tayven lifted his hands in exasperation. ‘Taropat, this is a travesty. We can’t do it. Would you sacrifice your brother to the lake?’
The moment he said these words a tense stillness fell between them. Taropat said nothing. Tayven shook his head. ‘No!’
‘He’s not destined to die,’ Taropat said. ‘I’m sure of it.’
‘Death might be the least of his worries,’ Tayven said.
Merlan stood up. ‘I will do it. I can’t go back.’
Tayven put his hands upon Merlan’s arms. ‘You don’t have to do this. You are not one of the three. You’ve fulfilled your task already.’
Merlan smiled sadly. ‘I made myself part of this. I am prepared to face whatever comes.’
‘Then I’ll be with you,’ Tayven said. ‘I will be with you in the dark. I am the light, remember.’
‘Touching,’ Taropat said. ‘He is more me than I ever was, isn’t he, Tayven?’
‘Khaster would never have come this far,’ Tayven replied.
Taropat shrugged. ‘Well, let’s get this over with.’
The guardian accompanied them to a small island of stiff sharp swamp grass. It watched them compose themselves on the damp ground with a disturbingly greedy relish. Mist was thickening over the water, making ghosts of the trees. ‘The serpent has the Dragon’s Breath,’ said the guardian. ‘Guards it. Is that what you’ve come for?’
‘The third artefact,’ Shan said to Taropat.
‘Only the true bard may wield it,’ said the guardian.
Taropat turned to Tayven. ‘Do you understand what this means?’
Tayven nodded glumly. ‘It is my site. I should have known.’
‘It is a great responsibility,’ Taropat said. ‘We do not yet know whether the Breath is a real artefact or not, but its lesson must pass to you here.’ He turned back to Goodgog. ‘You recognise us for what we are, don’t you?’
The guardian put its head to one side, stared at Taropat with an unexpected sanity. ‘I see what I see. Tides are missed, sometimes. Human failing. You can only try.’ With these words, the guardian flapped a dismissive hand at them and splashed away through the bog.
‘This must be taken as a good sign,’ Taropat said. ‘Is everyone ready?’
‘As we’ll ever be,’ said Shan.
‘If that’s possible,’ said Merlan.
Tayven swallowed hard, his heart beating fast. He nodded.
As Taropat began the meditation, Tayven found it difficult to close his eyes and relinquish control. Something told him he didn’t have to.
‘See in your mind’s eye the spiritual landscape of Rubezal,’ Taropat said. ‘The guardian will come to us. Go to him pure in heart. Think only of the Crown. Show that our intentions are pure.’
The mist was now so thick Tayven’s companions were mere shadows beside him. An instinct compelled him to stand up. Surely the group had been sitting close together? He could not see them at all now, and when he walked around a few paces, he still could not find them. He was alone. He heard, in the distance, a peal of lunatic laughter. Overhead a vulture screamed.
‘Come to me, then,’ Tayven said aloud. ‘I’m ready.’
The scene before him was utterly still. He could see only a few feet in front of him. ‘Merlan,’ Tayven said, then louder. ‘Merlan? Where are you? Find me. Hear my voice.’
There was only silence.
Carefully, Tayven ventured forward. Water rose about his ankles, seeped into the welts on his leg where the leeches had bitten him. ‘Merlan!’ He couldn’t fail a friend and despite their differences, he was sure that was what they had become. Perhaps there was some truth in the implication Taropat had made. Merlan had taken Khaster’s place in Tayven’s mind. He was the weak and vulnerable one now, and Tayven felt he must help him, as he couldn’t have helped before.
He heard a hiss in the fog ahead of him and began to splash towards it more quickly, only to fall forward. The ground disappeared beneath him. He sank beneath the dark waters only to rise swiftly. Now he swam. The mist cleared a little and he saw another low island ahead, ringed by stunted leafless trees that grew out of the water, their bare branches hung with tatters of withered vines. Something moved there, slowly.
Tayven pulled himself out of the lake, grasping the warty roots of the black trees. Another hiss echoed through the thinning mist. The serpent. Tayven crept forward, his hand reaching instinctively for the dagger that hung at his hip. The air was incredibly cold and the mist of his breath seemed only to thicken the fog around him. He needed clarity. He needed warmth.
Tayven pushed through a tangle of drooping branches and found himself in a mud-floored clearing. Moisture dripped from the tortured limbs of the trees and the air smelled fetid. Something writhed in the mud: a mass of thick slimy coils streaked with filth. The serpent. Here it was. Immense and full of guile. Ragged fins along its flanks suggested it was an amphibious beast. Its head, which rose hissing as Tayven approached, was that of an ugly fish. Tayven froze. The serpent’s head reared higher and higher. Its eyes were acid yellow, fixing him with a flat gaze.
‘Come to me.’ Tayven’s fingers closed about the knife, although in his heart he sensed this weapon would be of no benefit in any fight to come.
The serpent shook itself, and its image wavered. Tentacles rose from it, which presently Tayven realised were arms. The serpent had acquired a semi-human appearance. To the waist, it had the form of a beautiful boy, which melded into flexing coils. The creature’s limbs wove upon the air in a cruel dance. It smiled, showing sharp teeth, and a narrow forked tongue flickered out. ‘Come to you?’ it lisped. ‘Why should I? What have you got that I desire?’ It cupped its childlike face with its hands. ‘Not your beauty, for am I not as beautiful as you?’
‘You have something I desire, demon,’ Tayven hissed. ‘The Dragon’s Breath. I am the bard to the king. It is mine by right. Give it to me.’
The serpent cackled. ‘If you really are the bard, then you’d know that the song of the king is one only of truth.’
‘I know it,’ Tayven said. ‘I am here before you.’
The serpent cackled agai
n, a hideous chitinous noise that sounded like the clashing of a thousand beetle’s wings. ‘But you have lied, lovely bard. You have lied to your comrades, haven’t you? You knew what you wanted for yourself all along. Not the Crown of Silence, that’s for sure, because silence does not flatter a bard.’
‘I have not lied,’ Tayven said. ‘Look into my heart and you will see the truth.’
The serpent’s slit eyes widened in mock horror. ‘Don’t you know that when a bard lies he commits murder? He murders truth, and from the lips of the king’s bard, that kills a part of the world. If, indeed, you are the one you claim to be.’
A deathly cold stole through Tayven’s body, paralysing his flesh. He tried to speak but found that his tongue, even his breath, had frozen in his mouth.
The serpent lunged towards him, drew back. ‘If you come for me, I will bite and kill you with my poison. Your poison, evil child.’
Dread folded over Tayven like a tide of stinking slime. Dread was the breath of the serpent. The creature ran its hand down its smooth flanks. ‘A mirror in a tree,’ it said. At once, its face transformed into a reflection of Tayven’s own. ‘Such shallow pride, such vanity. Perhaps you have everything I desire after all.’
Tayven felt consciousness begin to slip away. He could not breathe. The fetid air now burned his mouth and throat like sulphurous gas. He must hang on. He must keep his senses, his wits. This was the lesson of the lake.
‘Ahhh,’ breathed the serpent, ‘to be desired by princes and kings. I am you, Tayven. I am the snake inside your pretty skin that bit them and poisoned their hearts.’
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