The Jasper Forest

by Julia Gray

  Frustrated and angered by this turn of events, just when he had been granted a last flicker of hope, Terrel felt despair leach away the last of his resistance, and he collapsed on to the damp boards.

  'We can't just sit here!' Olandis muttered.

  'We've no choice,' Aylen replied firmly. His conviction had not wavered for an instant, even in the face of his brother's fierce disagreement. 'This is Anador, remember. The red lagoon. Have you forgotten last night's skies?'

  'But he's no more than a boy - and he's ill. He could die.'

  'If we go in there, we'll bring ruin on ourselves and all our clan. Is that what you want? He has to get out by himself.'

  'Oh, come on, Chute!' Olandis exclaimed. 'He's too weak. Anyone can see that.

  And the current's taking him round in circles.'

  'Maybe that'll change when the tide begins to ebb,' Aylen suggested.

  'And take him out to sea again? And us with him, if we're not careful. We could all end up dead then.'

  'There's no alternative,' Aylen stated grimly. 'We'll manage somehow.'

  'Moons!' Olandis hissed. 'I wish Pa was here.'

  'He'd only tell you the same as me. He'd never go against moon-lore, especially in a place like this.'

  Olandis fell silent, wondering why he could never win an argument with his brother. At nineteen he was Aylen's senior by two years, and was much stronger physically, but that counted for nothing when it came to a war of words. Even as an infant Aylen had always been able to get the better of him that way. And the most galling thing of all was that Olandis knew his sibling was almost always right.

  The previous night had seen the rebirth of the Red Moon, so that now it was just beginning to wax again, and that - together with the fact that the unseen Dark Moon had been full at the same time and was now beginning its slow decline - made Anador a place of peril. None of their people would dare enter the lagoon until the heavens were realigned in a more favourable way.

  'There was something strange about his eyes,' Aylen said quietly.

  Olandis had seen that too. The castaway's gaze had been unnerving, and his eyes had seemed to glitter in an unnatural way.

  'Fever?' he guessed.

  'Maybe,' Aylen replied, though he sounded unconvinced. 'I wonder how he got here.'

  It had not occurred to Olandis to be curious about this. He had simply seen another human being in trouble and wanted to help him out. It had been his sharp ears that had picked up the earlier hissing cry, above the shuffle and lapping of the swell, and he who had insisted on going to investigate. He hadn't really believed that there would be anyone there, but as soon as he glimpsed the flimsy raft he had turned to his brother, meaning to say 'I told you so' - but then he had seen the expression on Aylen's face and had kept quiet. This was a place the brothers normally avoided, even when moon-lore allowed navigation in the area. There was something about the unusual colours in the water that made them nervous. Dreams hung heavy within this part of the coastal maze.

  'Maybe he's a sharakan,' Olandis suggested. He meant it as a joke, wanting to lighten the mood, but - to his astonishment - Aylen seemed to take the idea seriously.

  'Perhaps,' he murmured, nodding slowly. 'This would be a good place to trade, if his magic was strong enough.'

  ''Nothing about him looks strong!' Olandis exclaimed. 'Besides, he's no more than a child.'

  'Age is no barrier to talent — or ambition,' Aylen remarked sagely, glancing at the sky. As dusk fell, the only moon visible was the White, three days past full and still bright and pure against the fading blue. Under other circumstances he might have been content to stare at her delicate face, asking for her dreams to guide his way, but that was impossible now.

  'Is he asleep?' Olandis asked, peering at the huddled figure on the raft.

  The brothers stared, both wondering if it was a sleep from which the boy would ever awake, and then, with one accord, they began shouting again.

  The suddenly renewed noise, and the unearthly echoes it set up, roused Terrel from his stupor. He cursed silently, then forced his eyes open and glanced at the source of the din. What could they want now? The two men had still not moved, and their words meant nothing, but their urgent tone and the meaning of their beckoning gestures were unequivocal this time. They wanted Terrel to go to them.

  Their faces were set in serious expressions, not mocking or threatening, and Terrel wondered why, if they were really so anxious to help him, they could not simply move to his side. It would only take them a matter of moments to paddle their way across the intervening distance, but for Terrel it might as well have been a full mile of open water. In all the time he had been adrift, he

  had not once tried to influence the raft's course. In the open sea that would have been pointless; the strong swell had been impossible to fight, and one direction had been as good as another. Now that he was in relatively calm waters, and was in desperate need of purposeful motion, be had neither the strength nor the means to achieve it. Even if he'd had a wooden blade, like the strangers, he would have had difficulty lifting it, let alone using it to any effect. Moreover, the square raft was crudely built and moved awkwardly, unlike the streamlined canoes. It was hopeless. He closed his eyes again, and gave himself to the ghosts.

  "He's not listening,' Olandis said.

  Or he is, but can't do anything about it.'

  The brothers fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

  t'The tide's turning,' Aylen said eventually. 'It can't be. It's too soon.'

  Olandis glanced at the sky, t on this occasion there were no answers to be found there.

  'It's the Dark Moon,' his younger brother said. "Farazin said it's not where it's supposed to be.'

  'But that's impossible,' Olandis objected. 'Cutter

  'Cutter's a fool,' Aylen interrupted. 'Who would you rather believe? In any case, the tide is turning. Look.'

  They both knew what this latest development meant. The currents within the maze could be treacherous in themselves, and if the brothers stayed too long and were ought by the ebb tide in full spate, together with the flow from the river, they'd be in danger of being swept out into the ocean. If that happened, it was possible that

  they'd never get back. Their lightweight boats were built for inland waterways, not the open sea.

  'At least we might be able to fight it.' Olandis pointed out. 'He won't stand a chance.'

  'I know,' Aylen agreed soberly.

  'We could go round to the far side. Catch him when he drifts out of the lagoon. If we time it right, we should be able to reach him and get back.'

  'And if we don't?'

  'We've got to do something.''

  'All right,' Aylen conceded reluctantly, 'but there's something I want to try first.'

  Terrel was dreaming of a beautiful crystal city that rose into the sunlight from the depths of the ocean. He was making his way towards it, knowing that —

  in a sense -he would be going home, when he realized to his horror that his longed-for sanctuary was under attack. Glowing meteors were raining down from a hostile sky, wreaking untold havoc among the delicate facets. He tried to move more quickly, to get there before the onslaught destroyed everything, but the dream held him back no matter how hard he fought.

  He woke up when one of the smaller meteors hit him painfully on the side of his head.

  'Did it catch?' Aylen asked.

  'I think I hit his head,' Olandis replied anxiously.

  'That's the least of his worries. Have any of the hooks caught?'

  Olandis tested the line.

  'I think so.'

  The brothers' fishing lines were designed for trailing behind their canoes rather than for casting, but by tying a metal weight to one end they had been able to fashion something usable. Their hope was that, even if the castaway was unable to grasp the twine, one or more of the several hooks attached along its length would dig into some part of his raft or clothing. Olandis's throw had been more accurate than
he'd dare hope for, and now, as he pulled carefully on the line, he felt it snag firmly. However, as he tried to pull it in, all that happened was that he moved forward, coming too close to the forbidden lagoon.

  'We'll have to row backwards, pull him out that way,' Aylen decided. 'Tie the line to your canoe.' As Olandis did as he was told, Aylen attached his own craft to his brother's with a piece of rope. 'Ready?'

  'Yes.'

  Both men began to paddle steadily, feeling the line grow taut. To their relief it held as they edged backwards.

  'Moons! It's heavy,' Olandis complained. 'Why did he put to sea on a piece of junk like that?' They were fighting against an increasing current, and the shape of the raft meant that it pulled awkwardly against the flow.

  'It's coming,' Aylen breathed. 'Keep going.'

  Something was dragging at Terrel's sleeve and pricking his arm. Still struggling to free his mind from the disintegrating shards of his dream, and wondering why his head hurt so much, he could not work out what might be causing this strange sensation. His every movement took a colossal effort now, but when he could at last touch his arm, he found that a piece of twine had been drawn across both him and the raft.

  Opening his eyes, Terrel saw a shining beam of light dipping in and out of the water between him and the strangers' canoes. After a few moments, he realized that this was in fact a solid cord, and that he was being towed along.

  However, even as a glimmer of hope returned, he realized that his would-be rescuers were still keeping their distance, and he wondered if they suspected him of carrying some sort of contagious disease. Then, too exhausted to try and make sense of any of this, Terrel closed his eyes again and let fate take him where it would.

  Every time Olandis tried to shorten the line, they lost ground and began to drift back towards the lagoon. Having hooked their catch, they seemed unable to reel him in. And time was growing short.

  Eventually, the brothers decided to keep rowing until the raft was well outside the lagoon, then — while Olandis tried to hold their position - Aylen would go back to the stranger and transfer him to his own boat. Although the canoe had been designed for one person, and would ride perilously low in the water with an extra passenger, they knew that this was the only chance for them to help the stranger and for them all to escape.

  'Nearly there,' Olandis gasped. 'Ready?'

  'Yes. Will you be able to hold him?'

  'I'll have to, won't I? But not for long.' The two men were tiring now.

  'I'll be as quick as I can.'

  'Go, then.'

  As Aylen leaned forward to untie the rope, Olandis increased his efforts and managed to keep the craft still. His brother moved fast then, going with the tide to run

  alongside the stranger's makeshift boat. Untangling the boy from the fishhooks and then dragging his almost life-less body into the canoe was an awkward business, but determination - and his brother's exhortation to hurry -lent Aylen strength. At last, just before they were about to cross the border of Anador, he was able to yell to Olandis to cast the line adrift.

  As the cumbersome raft swirled back into the lagoon, on its way out to sea again, Aylen began to row against the current, the crumpled form of the castaway sprawled across his legs.

  By the time they reached more placid waters, the brothers were almost exhausted, but their success filled them with a shared sense of triumph, and they knew they were safe enough now. Their camp for the night was not far away, on a flat sandy shelf above the high-tide line, and once tbere they'd be able to rest and recover. Their passenger's immediate prospects were less certain. He was in a very bad way, clearly dehydrated and barely conscious.

  His twisted form made him seem even more pitiful.

  'Give him some water now,' Olandis said. 'He may not fast till we get to camp.'

  Aylen nodded and, while his brother held his canoe steady, he unstoppered his flask and held it to the stranger's lips, trying to support his lolling head at the same time. The first few drops trickled down over the boy's chin, but then some dormant reflex took over and his lips parted. Aylen was able to direct the flow into his mouth, and the two men both saw and heard him swallow painfully. A little life seemed to seep into his body with die precious liquid and Aylen smiled, feeling hopeful for

  the first time. A moment later he cried out and almost dropped the flask, his heart suddenly full of both amazement and fear.

  The stranger had opened his eyes to look at his saviour, and Aylen found himself ensnared, looking into their colourless, crystalline depths. He no longer knew whether the crippled boy they had rescued was a miracle or a monster.

  Chapter Three

  'What is it? What's the matter?'

  At the sound of the older brother's voice, the stranger lamed his head to look at him — and Olandis saw immediately what had so disconcerted Aylen. The castaway's eyes were extraordinary. Even in the fading sunlight they flashed and glittered like multi-faceted jewels, their only Dolour coming from brief rainbow flickers as the light moved within them. To Olandis, whose own eyes were a deep brown, there was genius or madness in those orbs — perhaps both.

  Either way, it was obvious that the dreams behind such eyes would be beyond his comprehension, beyond the grasp of most ordinary men.

  'Do you really think he's a sharakan?' he asked, finding himself talking in a whisper.

  'I don't know,' his brother replied. 'He hasn't any

  'Too young?' Aylen shrugged.

  'Maybe he'll tell us. When he can.'

  The stranger's eyes closed again then, and Aylen laid him back down in the canoe. The brothers were both secretly relieved that they no longer had to look into that unnerving gaze.

  'Let's get back to camp,' Aylen said. 'We need to get some food into him.'

  That night they took it in turns to watch over their patient, while the other slept as best he could. The stranger had been persuaded to take more water, and in fact he had done so eagerly, to the extent that their supplies were now running low. But they hadn't been able to get him to eat anything. The brothers had made their own meal — from fish they'd caught themselves, and hard bread that Ysatel, their stepmother, had packed for them - but neither had had much of an appetite. They were more concerned with the welfare of the boy they had rescued.

  His recent ordeal - however it had come about - had obviously taken its toll on him, but it seemed that he'd hardly been in perfect physical health even before that. His right arm was withered, the hand little more than a clenched claw, and his right leg was twisted, the foot bent up at an unnatural angle so that the boot he wore must have been specially made to fit its awkward shape.

  Unlike the sores on his calves and forearms — which had almost certainly been caused by long exposure to seawater - these deformities evidently dated from a much earlier time.

  'An accident, do you think?' Olandis asked quietly, during one of their changes of shift deep in the night.

  'I don't know,' Aylen replied. 'I've never seen anything like this before.'

  Growing up in Fenduca, the brothers

  had been witness to injuries of all kinds — and seen the often distressing consequences for the victims — but the stranger's skewed form was outside their experience. 'If it was an accident, I guess it must've happened when he was very young.'

  'Perhaps he was born like that,' Olandis suggested.

  'Perhaps. I'll keep an eye on him now. You get some rest.'

  Olandis nodded, but seemed in no hurry to lie down. Instead, he sat beside his brother, watching their patient sleep. Since the rescue the boy had been barely conscious, though his sleep seemed to give him little rest. He frowned often, and his limbs twitched frequently in response to some invisible prompting. Although he mumbled to himself occasionally, the brothers could make no sense of what he said.

  'He's dreaming,' Olandis said.

  'All the time. But they're not true dreams. He can't trade with them.'

  'Most of us can't,' the older brother com
mented sombrely. 'Do you think we should set a prayer-flag?'

  Aylen shook his head.

  'We don't have the right cloth.'

  'I could find something.'

  'No. His dreams can take care of themselves. It's his body we have to help now. We'll take him back to Fenduca in the morning. He needs someone with proper healing skills.'

  As if to confirm Aylen's diagnosis, the patient gave voice to a rasping cry of pain, no louder than a whisper, but no less agonized for that. At the same time his face contorted into a mask of unutterable misery as his cracked lips parted again, in an elongated hiss that was full of regret and longing.

  'A-yssa.'

  They had heard him say something similar a few times now, but this was the clearest yet - and the yearning tone was unmistakable. However, the word itself meant nothing to them.

  'Could it be someone's name?' Olandis wondered.

  Before Aylen had the chance to reply, the stranger began muttering again, his voice husky and deeper this time, but his words still made no sense.

  'He's raving,' Olandis said. 'Do you think he's lost his mind?'

  'What was that last word?' Aylen asked sharply, ignoring his brother's question.

  'Sounded like "badanis". Or "bajanis". Why?'

  The castaway was silent again now, apparently lost in a calmer part of his dreaming.

  'Could it have been "vadanis"?'

  'I suppose so,' Olandis replied, still puzzled.

  'I've heard that somewhere before,' Aylen said, his brow creased as he tried to remember.

  'It doesn't mean anything to—' Olandis began, but got no further as his brother exclaimed aloud.

  'Vadanis! It's from the wanderers' tongue.'