by Adrian Cole
'And?’
'I have climbed high above Sundhaven. No one else knows the way. I have seen the pass of the Mountain Owls.’
Brannog frowned. ‘You are serious?’ The youth spoke of a pass that was more of a legend than reality. As far as Brannog knew, no one had ever been there.
'I have seen the great Owls.’
Brannog's scepticism grew. ‘I see. What are you saying? That you will escort Korbillian?’
'I am the only one who can help him,’ agreed Wolgren proudly.
Brannog studied him, but at last chuckled. ‘Well. We will see. There is yet much to discuss.’ He turned more soberly to his daughter. ‘And you, Sisipher. You spoke of Korbillian's needs. What do you say now?’
She gripped his hands. ‘I believe him, father. As much as I believe anything.’
'Then will you help me, girl?’
She twisted around to see Korbillian and his shadow, Guile, at the foot of the stairs. Sisipher looked askance at her father.
'Every man has spoken for himself,’ he told her. ‘You, too, must give your own answer. I thought I would order you to remove yourself, but could not. Fear moved me, that is all. I am still afraid.’
'Of what?’ she cried.
'I cannot say. A premonition. Since we are asked to believe such powers exist, then call it that. Your mother—” He stopped, face drawn.
'What?’
'She had the gift. Perhaps there is also a residue in me.’
'You have power?’ said Korbillian, coming forward.
Brannog shook his head. ‘No. Unless a father's instinct is a form of power.’
'Who was the girl's mother?’
Brannog told him. There seemed no point in concealing it.
'Then there may well be a little power in you,’ said Korbillian.
'Even so, I will not go with you.’
'Father, I do not understand—” began Sisipher.
'You will,’ replied Brannog. First, he told Korbillian of what had been said by the fishers. Then he called Wolgren from the shadows. The youth was sturdy for his age, yet beside Korbillian he was dwarfed. ‘This youth claims that he will guide you to the passes.’
Korbillian studied the boy. He had a shock of raven hair, bright eyes and hands that spoke of labour. ‘How can you help me?’
'Sir, I've not crossed the mountains, but I know the pass of the Mountain Owls. I can lead you there. It is the only way through the range.’
'Indeed?’ Korbillian brightened. ‘And what is this pass?’
'It is said,’ put in Brannog, ‘that the Lord of the Mountain Owls is human, though I fear he is a myth.’
'Who is he?’
'He sends out his Mountain Owls,’ said Wolgren, quite seriously. ‘They see everything that happens in the mountains. They would know the way through them.’
'And you could find their master?’
Wolgren smiled. ‘Put me to the test.’
Guile laughed, clapping the youth on the back. ‘That we will, boy!’
Wolgren's smile changed to a scowl. ‘I am fifteen, a boy no longer!’
'Then you will be a welcome companion,’ Guile went on. ‘But what of your family?’
'I've already asked him,’ said Brannog. ‘He assures me he speaks for himself. He is no weakling, eh, Wolgren? If the pass can be reached, he will find it for you.’
Korbillian already seemed to be contemplating a meeting with the legendary keeper of the Mountain Owls. ‘Our thanks,’ he murmured to the youth.
Sisipher held her own head proudly. ‘And what must I do?’
Korbillian looked to Brannog, but then away. ‘It seems you have your mother's gift. Can you use it?’
'I don't know. What is the gift?’
'Will you try?’
'To what end?’
'If you can open tomorrow and beyond. Allow some glimpse of the future, some hope. It will guide us as surely as Wolgren.’
'Father?’ She remained baffled.
'It is your gift,’ said Brannog. ‘You must bestow it or withhold it. Korbillian makes no demands upon you; he has given his word. It is the gift of telling that your mother had, and with it you can see into the future. I should say this: your mother told me that her village had a claim upon her gift.’
'What must I do?’
Korbillian breathed a sigh of relief. ‘I will show you. Brannog, can we use this hall?’
Brannog nodded. If this was to be done, then it should be here.
Korbillian issued instructions at once. The windows and door were secured, the curtains drawn so that the hall became just as dark as it would be in the depths of the night, lit by the fire. Korbillian sat himself at one end of the central table, with a lamp placed in its centre. He asked Sisipher to sit opposite him and told the others to keep out of the circle of light. Brannog had noticed the ghostly figure of Eorna watching and he quietly dismissed her.
Sisipher sat as requested. Brannog could see that she was trembling. Was he right not to have forbidden this? She put her slender hands before her on the table, but withdrew them instinctively as Korbillian stretched out his own gloved hands face down, towards the lamp. ‘Do as I do,’ he said. ‘But do not touch my hands.’ He need not have warned her, for she looked at them as she would have done at serpents. Nevertheless, she slid her hands towards the centre of the table. ‘You must concentrate,’ he told her. ‘Look at me—look into me if you can. Take your time.’
She studied his tired face, the face that had so troubled her dreams, fixing on the eyes, and in the silence she seemed to sink back into those dreams, with no more than the face hanging before her like a continent. Brannog and Guile stood motionlessly, their own eyes shifting from face to face. Wolgren's hands were restless, for he had fears for the girl. One move to harm her, and there was a knife hidden at his belt. Power or not, he would use it without a second thought to protect Sisipher. How fitting, he thought, that she should have power! As if she needed power other than the power of her beauty, which to Wolgren was more intoxicating than the crude mead of Brannog's inn.
Sisipher found herself surrounded by darkness, but the lamp seemed to illuminate a terrain beyond the table. The face had gone, and in its place she could see a mountainside and a snow-blocked path. It was as though she looked down from a great height with the eyes of a bird. There were figures trudging wearily along the path. As she studied them, her eyes must have indicated that she could see something other than the room.
'What do you see?’ came Korbillian's gentle voice. She described the detailed snow scene, fascinated by it. ‘Can you see the figures?’
'Yes! Wolgren is leading, although the way ahead is not clear. The snow comes, whipped by a strong wind. Behind him is Guile, and then two others.’ By its size and clothes, one of these figures was plainly Korbillian, and she said so.
'And the fourth?’
All of them strained their eyes into the dark, as though they, too, would see the remote procession. Sisipher saw the fourth face and broke her concentration at once to turn to her father. He wanted to go to her. ‘What have you seen?’
'You must be still!’ snapped Korbillian, but the images had gone. Sisipher could not recall them. ‘What did you see?’ Korbillian asked.
'It was me. I was the fourth figure.’
Brannog shook his head. ‘It means nothing.’ But he had no confidence in his words. His mouth felt dry and bitter
'Again,’ said Korbillian.
They stared across the lamplight at each other, and within moments she had slipped into another vision. Several broken images passed before her and she described them falteringly: odd landscapes, flashes of movement, people, but nothing that coalesced into a positive picture that Korbillian could give meaning to. After a while a recurring image began to fill her vision: that of a huge hill, a great mound, and in the mêlée of her mind it seemed to be growing, pulsing as if alive, like some impossible creature burrowing up from below the earth. Her description of it chilled Korbillian, though
he pressed for every detail.
'There is a city upon and around it,’ said the girl.
'Inhabitants?’
'I don't think so. It is dark, night perhaps. But no lights. I can see movement. The houses are like graves.’ Abruptly her head slumped and her hands went limp. Before Brannog could reach her, she shook her head and looked up, seemingly unharmed. ‘A strange place,’ she said.
Korbillian looked greatly disturbed. ‘A city. Around the mound. This is very bad.’
'Do you recognise it?’ Guile asked his master.
Korbillian shook his head. ‘Not the city. But that mound, that hill. It is my goal. The power flows from it, and the mound grows.’
Brannog seemed impatient to end the telling. ‘Have you learned enough?’
Wolgren spoke up. ‘If we can find the Lord of the Mountain Owls, he may know of this place.’
Korbillian agreed. ‘It is the first real hint I have had.’
Sisipher broke the following silence. ‘I will try again.’
This time her father demurred. ‘There is no need.’
'But I can feel something more. A last seeing,’ she told Korbillian, and Brannog understood that there was no turning her. He stepped back. Why, he asked himself, had she seen herself in the first vision? She could not mean to go with them? He could not permit that. In spite of his intentions, he would have to insist.
Again Sisipher studied Korbillian, and through his eyes found herself searching another unknown landscape. It was obscure, mist-hung, and as she sank into its embrace, Wolgren's breath caught. He sensed something amiss.
'Can you feel the air?’ he asked Brannog, ignoring the others.
Brannog looked at the fire, but it blazed freely. Yet the hall was cold. Sisipher's breath had begun to trickle from her mouth in tiny white streams. ‘What is wrong?’ Brannog whispered to Guile.
Guile frowned. An unnatural stillness surrounded the building as the coldness within it constricted like the coils of a serpent. Sisipher's eyes widened, her face white. Brannog wanted to snap her out of this, for a terrible foreboding was upon him. Something stayed him. Guile's face creased in anxiety. Wolgren pulled out his knife and the lamplight gleamed on its blade. None of them acted for fear of harming the girl.
'What do you see?’ came Korbillian's voice, cracking the frozen air like a whip.
Sisipher was shaking her head, seemingly unable otherwise to move. Around her the shadows were writhing, trying to lend substance to the dark. Beyond the walls a far wind was keening, beginning its swirl high above Sundhaven that would bring it down upon the village in a rush. They listened to it as though it were a harbinger.
The lamp went out. Complete silence fell again. The wind had ceased, but after a moment it began again, only now curling around the houses, feral and hungry. Wolgren leapt to his feet, stepping towards the girl as though sure she was threatened.
'Keep still!’ hissed Brannog, tensing as if about to fly at something he could not see. The air of the place ached.
There was a final frozen moment, as though time had locked. Then the door burst, its frame shattering, a blast of splintered wood and snow racing in on them. A pale light washed over the threshold as the wind howled in, bringing with it a further flurry of dancing snow. Sisipher stared at the glowing opening in horror. No one moved to the door. From the unseen night beyond it a figure appeared, coalesced, it seemed from nothing. It was too dark to identify, shrouded in a cloak, the head lost within a deep hood.
Sisipher screamed. Brannog tore his rooted feet from the floor and stepped forward, but Guile held him back with hands like ice. The figure did not enter. It raised its right arm beneath the cloak. Folds of material parted and the hand appeared, no more at first than a silhouette. Light caught it, trapped it in a ghostly halo. It was not flesh and bone, but seemed to be glimmering like steel, one edge of it a sharply curving crescent. This opened double and clashed shut like the jaws of a trap.
Wolgren acted in the darkness. He flung his knife with all his young strength. Before the knife could strike its mark, it glowed in the air as though molten, and then seemed to burst, as did the figure. Embers of light exploded into the room, sending the onlookers to their knees. As the sound died away and silence rushed in once more, Brannog was first to recover. He felt dizzy, eyes half-blinded by the flash, but as he grew accustomed to the room's proper glow, he saw that the lamp on the table burned as it had done before.
'Sisipher,’ he called. He found her beside the table and helped her to her feet. She seemed groggy but otherwise unharmed. Korbillian stood beside them, concerned.
'The door!’ cried Wolgren. As they squinted at it, they saw that it was whole, as if the vision of its disintegration had been a dream.
'Illusion,’ said Brannog.
'No,’ said Korbillian. ‘Not quite. Sisipher saw into the future. She has extraordinary power. She was able to present her seeing to all of us.’
'But the explosion,’ gasped Brannog. ‘Is that to happen here? Is that creature to visit Sundhaven?’
Korbillian looked bemused. ‘What we saw was a part of her vision, probably distorted. She can shape the images herself, or possibly her own mind interprets the images that come to her and projects them in her own way. The figure is something we must watch for.’
'What was it?’ said Wolgren. He had not moved, but was searching for the knife.
'I cannot answer,’ said Korbillian. ‘Brannog?’
'Nor I. Has Guile seen the like in the Emperor's lands?’
'No one I have seen dresses in that way. Quanar Remoon's Administrators have their robes of office, but none so grim as those that we saw.’
Sisipher had recovered, though she sat at the table. ‘Who was he?’ she asked before they could ask the same of her.
'Perhaps,’ suggested Brannog, ‘it was no more than an image from your mind. A nightmare.’
She shuddered. ‘No, father. It is out there, and real.’
Brannog turned to Korbillian. ‘Then does it have power?’
'When I meet it, I will know.’
Wolgren had now gone to the door, and had found his knife. It was, like the door, intact. He sheathed the blade and touched the wooden panels. There was no indication that the incident had occurred. As he turned away there came a loud rapping from outside, and Wolgren spun away as if scalded.
Sisipher broke the ensuing silence. ‘It's all right. Open the door.’
Wolgren hesitated. Brannog strode to the door. ‘Who's there?’ Yet there was no reply. He threw the bolts and opened the door wide. It was murky beyond, and snow was falling softly, but there was no sign of life. On the threshold there were a number of sacks. Brannog reached for one and opened its neck cautiously. He turned to the onlookers. ‘Supplies,’ he breathed, then dragged the sacks inside. He locked the door once more. ‘The men of Sundhaven have sent you provisions,’ he told Korbillian. ‘Food, clothes.’ Something rattled in the sacks, and when Brannog investigated, he found two swords. ‘Well, well. A rare gift. Not the works of a master craftsman, but you are fortunate. The men of Sundhaven do not equip themselves for war, but neither are weapons given away lightly. You have made an impression.’
Korbillian looked at the supplies in amazement. ‘Your people are in danger of starvation, yet they do this. I am grateful. But I never carry a sword.’
'I'll take one!’ cried Guile, jerking to life. ‘I've nothing but my wits to protect me. I'm no swordsman, but I can learn.’
Brannog tossed him a weapon, and Guile almost dropped the unfamiliar object, but then hefted it with a will and sliced at the air.
Sisipher came forward slowly, her hand outstretched. ‘I will need the other sword,’ she said simply, her eyes searching her father's face.
He scowled at her, his anger glowing. ‘No.’
'Yes, father. Like Guile, I have to learn.’
'You cannot mean to go with them?’
'But I must, father. They have no hope alone.’
> Korbillian looked grave. ‘In truth, it will take an army. That city will not be undefended.’
Brannog stared at him in amazement. ‘You cannot mean to enter such a place?’
'I must reach the mound.’
Sisipher took the sword from her father's limp hand. ‘I saw myself with them, on the mountain. They have a claim upon my gift. It is not mine to deny.’
Brannog sighed. ‘This is madness. None of you will survive the mountains! How can I permit you to go?’ He wanted to oppose Sisipher more vehemently, but already knew that he had lost her. It was as though her going had been ordained, even from birth.
'I have to go,’ she said, and he had no answer.
'You have my thanks,’ said Korbillian.
Brannog flared and pointed at him. ‘Protect her, stranger! Guard her life well.’
'Be assured.’
Wolgren stepped forward. ‘By me also.’
Sisipher smiled at him. It was impossible to mistake the look in the youth's face. She had seen it before and had teased him for it. And yet she took it now as a compliment, not something to be scorned. ‘My thanks,’ she said, and Wolgren coloured.
'It will be best,’ said Korbillian, ‘if we left by the first light. Will you speak to your people on my behalf? I would rather be gone when the village awakes. It is how they would wish it.’
Brannog nodded.
'What of the hooded man?’ said Wolgren.
'It is our destiny to meet him,’ said Korbillian. ‘I understand nothing of his mystery. Do you, Sisipher?’
'No. I had no control over what I showed you.’
'It must be a part of the evil you seek to destroy,’ said Brannog.
'Yet that has no mind, no direction.’
'Are you sure?’ persisted Brannog. ‘Since you have convinced me that dark powers must exist, I am wondering about the storm. When your ship forged through the sea to our shore, you came against wind and water. A storm from the east. Yet the wave was from the west, as though the storm had by some miracle turned upon its axis. Seeking not the village, but you. As though it had a mind.’
Korbillian looked mortified. ‘It is what I feared.’
Guile had paled, and for once there was no trace of humour in him. ‘What do you mean?’