Do not decry yourself, whispered a voice in his mind. The gift of the pearl is within you. What need do you have for the bauble that represents its power? Do you not see? Do you not understand? The Dragon must know you accept its gift.
Yes, he could understand. A final sacrifice. Tayven tried to stand, desperate to reach the waters of the lake, but could not raise his body. It felt as if his bones were fragmenting within his skin. Every muscle and sinew sizzled at the searing frequency of the pearl’s vibration. He had to crawl, slowly, tortuously, like a baby learning to use its limbs. He was no longer aware of his companions. All that existed was the smoking, bubbling surface of the lake that drew him to itself. At the water’s edge, he struggled to his knees.
‘Dragon, hear me!’ he cried. ‘I am your servant. The pearl is yours. I return it to you. It is my sacrifice.’ With a shoulder-wrenching arc, Tayven threw the pearl into the air. It soared out over the lake, where it skimmed across the surface three times, before plunging into the roiling water. At once, the destructive vibrations ceased within his mind and body. For a moment, he knelt beside the water, gasping, his hands upon his thighs. His ears were filled with the hiss of boiling steam. He lumbered to his feet and turned to his companions. Other sounds crashed back into his awareness. He could hear a frantic voice, terrible cries of pain. Merlan was standing over Shan, who lay upon the rock, his body writhing into contortions, his face a mask of agony. He clawed at his chest. Tayven could smell burning meat.
‘The Claw!’ Merlan cried, seeing Tayven coming towards him. ‘It’s burning into his skin. He won’t let me touch it.’
‘Take him to the water,’ Tayven shouted. ‘Shan must relinquish the Claw, Merlan. He must return it to the Dragon. Make him throw it into the lake.’
‘I’ll do what I can. See to Taropat.’
Tayven could see Taropat kneeling upon the rock some distance away. He was motionless, acidic beams of light still pouring out of the Eye towards his face. Tayven squatted down and attempted to wrench the Eye from Taropat’s grasp, but it was as if his fingers had turned to iron. ‘Taropat, can you hear me?’ he cried, shaking the man’s shoulders. ‘You must let go of the Eye. The Dragon demands it back.’ He tried again to prise Taropat’s fingers away from the dazzling artefact, but a piercing screech from behind him distracted his attention. He turned in time to witness Shan throw the Claw into the air, the torn cord dangling from his blackened neck. The artefact spun through the steam above the lake, and splashed into the hungry water amid a roar of flame and sparks. Shan slumped to the ground, his hands dangling in the water. A ragged scream close to Tayven’s ear forced him to attend once more to Taropat. The man was shaking his head from side to side. ‘Merlan!’ he cried. ‘Brother, do not forsake me!’
Merlan came running to Taropat’s side. Even though Tayven had been unable to move Taropat’s fingers, Merlan pulled the Eye from his brother’s grasp. At once, its cruel glare faded away. Merlan cupped it gingerly in both hands.
‘Taropat, you must relinquish the Eye,’ Tayven shouted. The roar and crash of splintering rock and foaming water made it almost impossible for him to be heard. ‘Speak now! Make your sacrifice.’
Taropat, his head hanging, only uttered a groan.
‘Go to the lake, Khas,’ Merlan said. ‘We’ll help you. Once you are there, I’ll give you the Eye again. You must throw it into the water. Tell the dragon you return it.’
His words appeared to penetrate Taropat’s mind. As Tayven had done before, he began to crawl forward on his hands and knees. Then, he reared up and began to strike the air with floundering arms, all the while uttering stark cries. His hair fell back from his face.
‘By Madragore,’ Merlan cried, ‘he’s blind, Tayven. Blind!’
Taropat threw back his head and roared at the sky. Tayven could see his eyes now, milky white, dead orbs. Without thinking, Tayven began to drag Taropat to the lake’s edge, ignoring the glancing blows from the flailing arms. Taropat half fell into the water, his white eyes rolling madly.
‘Give me the Eye, Merlan!’ Tayven shouted.
Merlan handed it to him. Behind him, Shan had got to his feet and stood watching the others, an expression of horror and revulsion on his face. Tayven pressed the Eye into Taropat’s hands. ‘Speak. Make the sacrifice. We are here with you.’
Taropat gripped the Eye firmly. His voice was a ragged croak. ‘I give you my magician’s sight. That is my sacrifice. Now give me the Crown!’
‘No!’ Tayven cried. ‘Throw it, Khaster. Throw it. Relinquish it.’
‘The Crown!’ roared Taropat, spittle frothing from the corners of his mouth.
Merlan pushed Tayven aside and ripped the Eye from his brother’s hands. He ran into the lake a few paces. Water seethed around his ankles, a black and eager element. ‘Take this unto yourself!’ he cried and hurled the Eye across the lake. When it reached the centre, there was a stark flash of light and the waters came immediately to rest. The roaring sounds subsided, until all that could be heard was the sound of ragged breathing.
‘Is it over?’ Shan murmured.
‘Seems to be,’ Merlan answered. He knelt next to Tayven beside his brother, put a hand on Taropat’s shoulder.
Taropat raised his face. His eyes were still blind. ‘The Crown,’ he gasped. ‘Where is it? Do any of you have it?’
‘No,’ Tayven said. His throat was constricted with sorrow. Taropat hadn’t been able to make the sacrifice. He had paid for his pride with his eyes.
Taropat drew in his breath, slowly, painfully, but before he could speak the rock beneath them began to shake once more.
‘No,’ said Shan. ‘Not again. What must we do now? Has he ruined it all? Has he, Tayven?’
‘I don’t know,’ Tayven replied. He could barely keep to his knees.
‘Perhaps we should try and get out of here,’ Merlan said. ‘Let’s carry him, Tay.’
‘I don’t know,’ Tayven said. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘We can’t wait,’ Merlan argued. ‘We can’tc’
The rock suddenly gave a violent jolt and the group was thrown away from each other.
Rolling over onto his stomach and coming to rest at the edge of the water, Tayven saw that the surface of the lake had began to surge once more. The noise of grinding stone was again deafening. Taropat was lying nearby. Tayven saw his mouth moving, but could not hear the words. The ground was shaking so violently, all they could do was lie still and grip the rock, hope the tremor would pass. Merlan and Shan managed to crawl to Tayven’s side. They drew Taropat to them and clung together.
Was this how their quest must end, in death? Was this the secret of Pancanara? Perhaps Merlan had been right at Malarena after all. Tayven closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the rock. His teeth were vibrating in his skull. He felt he should pray, but to what? Let it be quick, then, without pain. He felt Merlan’s fingers digging agonisingly into the soft flesh above his shoulders, heard him shout close to his ear. He could not hear the words, but his tone made Tayven lift his head.
Something was rising from the lake. Something immense. A mountain. A mountain of crystal. It rose slowly, inexorably, water cascading from its flanks. Were they dreaming? Was this real? The physical sensations did not feel like a dream. Tayven shook off the hold of his companions and scrambled to his feet. Only then did he realise that the earth tremor had diminished. The air was filled with a mighty roar and a hot wind coming off the lake made it difficult for him to keep his eyes open. But he had to see. Even if death followed, his last sight would be of something extraordinary and wondrous. The roaring sound died away and the last crashing waterfalls fell back into the lake. Tayven stared in disbelief at the edifice that dominated the centre of Pancanara. Not a mountain, but a fabulous city. He saw minarets and towers rising high towards the pulsing sky. They caught the rays of the rising sun, which was reflected with blinding brilliance. Tayven’s ears were filled with the music of an unearthly chorus, as if a company of a
ngels sang amid the towers. He could see them now, undulating spectral shapes that clung to the spires of crystal. He turned to the others, pointed wordlessly.
‘I know this place,’ Shan said, his eyes strangely unfocused. ‘It is the city of Sinaclara’s shining angel.’
A glittering causeway had appeared, leading up to the coruscating walls. Tayven saw the phantom inhabitants beckoning him, calling out to him with their siren song. He could see them more clearly now: women, with long elfin faces, slanting eyes and waving silver hair. He stepped forward, unable to disobey the summons of their voices.
Taropat reached out and gripped his arm. ‘Don’t leave me. What’s happening? What can you see?’
‘The city of angels,’ Tayven said. ‘If Shan is right.’
‘Sinaclara told me of it,’ Shan said. ‘She said it was the cradle of our civilisation. I’ve seen it in dreams.’
Taropat uttered a sob, pawed at his blind eyes.
‘There are no dragons here, brother,’ Merlan said. ‘Come, take my arm. Come with us to the city.’
‘No!’ Taropat cried. ‘I cannot see it. It might be a trick to lure us to our deaths. I cannot guide you. We have failed.’
‘It’s all right,’ Shan said, putting an arm around Taropat’s shoulders. ‘We will be your guides now.’
‘Yes,’ Tayven said. ‘We must see this through to the end, all of us together.’
‘Climb onto my back, master,’ Shan said. ‘I will carry you there.’
Tears, whether of emotion or merely a physical reaction to his pain, slid down Taropat’s face. But he allowed Merlan and Tayven to hoist him onto Shan’s back. Shan began to wade into the water. Tayven stepped off the rock behind him. He half expected to be able to walk across the lake’s surface, but after a few steps, the bottom fell away beneath him and he sank. Strangely, he was not afraid. An unnatural blue light surrounded him. He began to swim, and found his body moved quickly through the mineral-soaked water. His companions were beside him and the siren song was a line reeling them in.
There was solid ground beneath his feet now. He was walking upwards, out of the lake, along the shining causeway to the city. There was no gate, but a portcullis of crystal spears was raised to allow them ingress. Tayven was first beneath it. Beyond was a wide ceremonial way leading upwards. The buildings around him were indistinct. Sometimes, they looked like natural rock formations, at other times like splendid palaces and temples. The song that surrounded him was so high-pitched, he felt it would melt his brain. Yet he was driven to walk forward. Something was approaching, a tall glowing shape. It glided like a ghost and was surrounded by immense wings. The brilliance of the light bleached all colour from the scene, but as the figure drew closer Tayven saw that it was male and that his wings were white peacocks’ tails. His hair was the darkest purple, the colour of night-blooming, poisonous flowers. Valraven, he thought, but then behind him he heard Shan cry, ‘Azcaranoth! The peacock angel.’
The figure held a glowing object in its white attenuated hands. This he appeared to be offering to the city’s visitors. Tayven fell to his knees. The great angel hovered over him, his face terrible and beautiful.
A voice thundered out from him, although his mouth did not move. ‘Who summons the etheric form of Kharsanara, city of the Elderahan?’
‘Seekers, lord,’ Tayven said. ‘We have undertaken the quest of the lakes. Our sacrifices summoned you. We seek the lesson of the Crown of Silence.’
Sparks of indigo light spat from the angel’s eyes. ‘I am the father of humanity, reviled and worshipped in equal measure. It is I who gives knowledge to the world, that which breaks the endless sleep of the human soul. If it is my knowledge you seek, then speak now in truth.’ The angel’s form was in constant motion, as if he was made of light or fluid.
‘We come in truth, lord,’ Tayven said. ‘We seek your knowledge for the good of humanity.’
Azcaranoth’s voice rang out like the clash of a mighty bell. ‘Then answer this: who does the Crown serve?’
Tayven took a deep breath. He had to speak what was in his heart. ‘It serves the true king, lord.’
Azcaranoth raised his wings and the whole city shook to a deafening rumble. ‘There can be no king without the crown of knowledge,’ he roared. ‘Without wisdom, without awareness, without mercy, without will, the king does not exist. All these qualities are within the Crown. They are the vital elements of kingship, and when they come together in the flesh of the true king silence covers the sky, the waters and the earth. Are you worthy custodians for this precious gift?’
‘Judge our hearts, lord,’ Tayven murmured, his head lowered.
‘I am not!’ Taropat cried. ‘Smite me now. I am not worthy of this company.’
‘Ah, pride,’ said the angel. ‘You must learn to live with it, temper its excesses. I’ll not smite you.’
‘I no longer want life,’ Taropat said desperately. ‘I cannot live without sight.’
‘You are blinded by your own folly,’ said the angel. ‘You were unwilling to make the sacrifice, because of your ignorance. Yet your brother made it for you. Your eyes are not blind, Taropat, though your heart may be.’
‘We are only human,’ Tayven said, ‘flawed and ignorant. Yet we undertook the quest in good faith. It was all we could do.’
‘Look upon me,’ said the angel.
Tayven raised his face. Before his eyes, he saw the Crown, cupped by the angel’s fingers. It was a simple high coronet of delicate spines, as if made from living coral, emitting its own radiance. It was the manifestation of all that was noble within humanity. Tayven could not bear to look upon it for long. His eyes were streaming.
‘Take it,’ said the angel, ‘if you accept my words as truth.’
‘I do’ Tayven said. ‘I do now.’ He sensed movement behind him, which he knew was Shan reaching out to take the Crown. Instinctively, Tayven reached for it first. He felt an ice cold burn course up his arms as his fingers curled around it.
At once, he fell.
The city was falling, water pouring over him in mighty waves. He was engulfed. Strong currents grabbed hold of his body, throwing it around like an insignificant piece of flotsam. He was being sucked downwards into the darkness, the only light coming from the Crown. Tayven would not let go of it. His lungs were bursting, and his head was so crushed by pressure he was sure it must explode. But he would not let go.
The descent seemed interminable. Tayven drifted in and out of consciousness. Each time he awoke, he could not comprehend that he was still alive. He felt he hadn’t drawn breath for hours, but although his chest was on fire with pain, he did not give in and try to breathe. Something sustained him, perhaps the Crown itself. But he was weakening. He could sense it. Why prolong the agony? Why not just open his mouth and let the water fill him? There was to be no rising. It was impossible. He had gone too deep.
No! he screamed in his mind. We got this far. The Crown is in our grasp. No! I am hope. I will not let despair take me.
The moment these thoughts had formed, a vision splashed across his inner eye. He was sitting at the feet of Valraven Palindrake, who was seated upon a great throne, the Crown of Silence upon his brow. Shan stood on the king’s right side, dressed in silver armour. Taropat was at Valraven’s left, resplendent in the purple robes of a magus. The image lasted only an instant, before breaking up into a myriad flashing colours.
Tayven was ejected from the water as if he was an irritant it was compelled to dispel. Blinding sunlight filled his eyes and he sucked in a searing lungful of air. Waves crashed over him, pushing him under for a while, but then he rose again. This was not Pancanara. There were no mountains around him, but what appeared to be sea. He tasted salt in his mouth. How had this happened? Magravandias was not close to the ocean. How had they got here? He trod water and saw that land lay close by. On a broad sandy beach, Shan was crawling slowly from the foam. Merlan lay among the rock pools, covered by a blanket of weed, and Taropat sat next to him,
staring out to sea, his eyes restored.
Tayven swam towards them, and it was only when they saw him and began to shout his name that he raised his arm above the water, the Crown shining there, still gripped in his numb fingers. The Crown of Silence.
Chapter Twenty-Five: Parting of the Company
Lady Sinaclara dribbled incense into a bowl before the statue of Azcaranoth. All day, her heart had beat too quickly in her breast. They would be here soon. She had waited so long for this moment, and this was only the beginning. There was no easy path to what was right, what was truth.
She heard Nana come into the temple, recognising the soft graceful tread of her assistant. ‘It has come,’ said the Jessapurian.
Sinaclara turned and for some moments looked into Nana’s eyes in silence. She felt like weeping rather than laughing. Joy filled her, but also terror and sadness.
‘It is a burden you chose,’ said Nana.
Sinaclara nodded. ‘I know. And if I have regrets, it is not that.’
They were waiting in her sitting room, looking gaunt and tired. It had been a long journey and it had changed them. Sinaclara could sense that they’d travelled guided only by instinct, bemused and shocked by what had happened to them. She had been with them in spirit, unable to intervene, sharing their anguish, their hope, their weakness and their strength. Pancanara had revealed its secret and given up the Crown. They had been sucked into underground channels and reborn in the Magravandian inland sea, Magar’s Stretch. Sinaclara could see, even now, they were unsure how that had happened. They were disorientated, separated, even though they were also securely bound by their shared experience. A bond they did not want, perhaps. Whatever moments of unity they might have shared when they came out of the water had gone. Secrets estranged them, unspoken words. At least Taropat had brought the Crown to her. Ultimately, she could never have been sure of that. She knew he would never trust her completely, but he clearly trusted her enough. For now. Sinaclara’s servants had given the men something to eat and drink, but their plates appeared untouched.
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