The Jasper Forest

by Julia Gray

  The haze of slumber left the trader's eyes instantly as soon as he saw what Terrel had brought him.

  'How did you persuade him?' he asked, rolling the fire-opal in his fingers.

  Even in the gloom the stone smouldered with a cold flame-light.

  'I didn't. He gave it to me, for my journey.'

  'Really? But you go tomorrow, don't you? I don't have enough—'

  'Can you give me an advance?' Terrel cut in. 'Anything that'll be readily accepted when I'm on the road. I only want a fraction of its value.'

  'I have some coins,' Mitus said doubtfully, 'but no more than a tenth of its worth.'

  'That'll be fine. Give the rest to Kerin when you sell it.'

  'All right. If you're sure that's what you want.'

  'I'm sure.'

  Cutter fetched the money and handed it over.

  'Kerin will receive a fair price, you have my word on that.'

  'Thank you.'

  Terrel returned to the Mirana home with heavier pockets, but with a lighter heart.

  It was time for the last of his farewells.

  When he got back to the hut, Kerin and Olandis were asleep, and Terrel went into the side room and sat down beside Ysatel. He talked to her for more than an hour, and even though she did not react to his softly spoken words, he thought that maybe - in some realm - she might be able to hear him.

  He told her about his reasons for leaving; the rumours of a monster in Talazoria, and the subsequent realization that there was an elemental there —

  a creature on which her own fate, as well as Alyssa's, might well depend; the enigmatic directions of the Tindaya Code and his 'bargain' with fate; the communal dreams of her fellow villagers; and Farazin's comment that there might be something else Terrel must do before he went home. He told her about Kerin and Olandis's reconciliation, and reassured her that his own skills were no longer needed

  now that Talker and Davi were able to begin healing again - and now that there were wolf-fish in the pool to warn the villagers of earthquakes.

  The one thing he did not tell her was his dream about Macul's destruction. If that was real, nothing he could say would help. And if it wasn't, then there was no need to mention it.

  'I know you'll come back to Kerin one day,' he concluded, 'just as Alyssa will come back to me. I'm doing all this so it can happen as soon as possible.'

  After that, Terrel slept fitfully for a few hours. In his mind he was already on his way, and his body was eager to follow. It was still dark when he rose, collected his pack and crept out into the last of the night.

  He felt some guilt about sneaking off before anyone was awake, but found that he couldn't face the idea of more goodbyes. Several of the villagers had said they'd come to see him off, and some had volunteered to go with him the first part of the way — offers he had refused, saying that he'd rather travel alone from the start — and the idea of escaping while everyone was still asleep was appealing.

  At the edge of the settlement he paused, looking back for the last time.

  'Goodbye,' he said quietly, then turned and took his first steps on the path of his dreams.

  When the sun rose, his lopsided gait had already carried him several miles from Fenduca, following the unknown road.

  PART TWO

  THE UNKNOWN ROAD

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Terrel stood at the crest of a high pass. The climb had been long and arduous, and even at this altitude the air was warm, but that was not what had brought him to a standstill. The sight before him had almost literally taken his breath away.

  He was looking down on an almost featureless white plain, dazzling in the summer sunlight. It was entirely ringed by mountains, so that its boundaries were sharply defined, and on the far side he could clearly see the V-shaped gap between two jagged peaks which contained the track he'd been advised to head for. The trail could be no more than a handful of miles away, and yet reaching it now seemed both hazardous and daunting. Terrel had been travelling for nearly three median months, and during that time he had seen many incredible sights — but he could never have imagined anything like this.

  As he watched, the luminous plain bulged and shifted slowly, as if it were alive, boiling and bubbling like a

  giant's cauldron. Although Terrel's most recent companions on the road had told him what to expect, he hadn't really believed them - until now. They had tried to persuade him to go a different way - to make the long detour to east or west - but Terrel wanted to get to Talazoria as quickly as possible. He was footsore and weary, and the prospect of a short cut, no matter how perilous, had been too attractive. He had stood by his avowed intentions, going on alone, but now - too late -he began to question the wisdom of his decision.

  Having come this far he had no choice except to go on, but he would not be crossing this shining landscape; he would be travelling below it. The white plain was made of clouds.

  It's always like that,' Barker had claimed. 'No matter what the weather's doing above or around the valley, the cloud is always there.'

  Terrel had taken this for a storyteller's embellishment, and he'd said as much at the time. However, Barker -the most voluble of his fellow travellers - had been insistent.

  'No, it's true. It's like a blanket, and it's always dark under there.'

  'And the people who live there are really strange,' someone else had added, provoking general agreement from the group. 'Really strange.'

  Terrel had finally forced them to admit that none of them had actually been down into the valley, and although his scepticism had not altered their conviction that the place was cursed, he'd been able to dismiss much of what he had been told as mere hearsay. The valley's climate, he had concluded, might well be a little odd, but it couldn't be as peculiar or as dangerous as they'd alleged.

  Now, gazing across the bright expanse below him, he was not so sure. The impenetrable layer of cloud was incongruous and unnatural. Above the mountains the sky was a uniform shade of blue, and the sun's rays were hot on Terrel's head and shoulders, but a steady breeze blew through the pass, making the day's warmth bearable. All these factors should have meant that any mist would clear, either from being burnt away or dispersed by the wind, and yet it was obvious that this was not going to happen. The surface of the false plain rippled and swirled, but beneath that blinding facade there was a hidden stillness. And beneath that . . .

  Terrel pushed the thought aside, refusing to be influenced by Maculian superstition. It was just cloud. And the valley was only a few miles across.

  He might even reach the other side before sunset.

  Having no other option, the boy set his aching legs in motion again. Even then, he hesitated when he reached the edge of the bank of fog. Wisps of moisture seemed to reach out towards him, like transparent grey tendrils. He felt their coolness on his skin, pleasant after the heat of midday, but ominous at the same time.

  Taking one last deep breath, as if he was preparing to dive into the waters of an unknown sea, Terrel finally stepped forward. He began his descent into perpetual gloom.

  At first, as the white turned to grey about him, he was virtually blind. The mist seemed to cling to him, making

  every step a tentative voyage into the void. Before long he had lost all sense of direction and half expected to leave the cloud again, having gone round in a circle. Only the fact that the ground beneath his feet still sloped downwards gave him the confidence to continue. The path he was following - if he was indeed still on the path

  — remained reasonably smooth, and although it was damp, he was in no real danger of losing his footing as long as he was careful.

  Eventually, to his great relief, the fog thinned a little

  - and because his eyes had adjusted to the half-light by then, he was able to look at his surroundings for the first time. He was still on a trail, made up of hard-packed earth and stones, in which a few tufts of brown grass were growing. To either side, boulders glistened dully. Beyond that a
ll the boy could see were shadows. He could hear the distant sound of running water, but apart from that the silence was total, as if the cloud muffled sound as well as light.

  Tiny droplets of water had formed on his hair and clothes, and his skin felt chilled and damp. Shivering, he stopped to take a jerkin out of his pack and pulled it on before going forward again. Tall shadows loomed out of the mist, and as he drew closer he realized they were trees. Compared to those he'd seen in the forest near Fenduca and elsewhere, they were stunted and sickly-looking. Their trunks and branches were twisted, and seemed very pale in colour, until he saw that they were covered in lichen. The bark beneath was almost black, but the leaves were of such a soft-hued green that they appeared almost silver. Although the trees were virtually still, water dripped from them constantly, creating a soft pattering

  on the ground below — the only sound to break the silence. No birds sang here; no forest creatures rustled in the sparse undergrowth. The grey wood was one of the most unnerving places Terrel had ever visited, and he hurried on, wanting to leave its shadows behind.

  The path was soft now, almost springy, but at least he could see where he was putting his feet, and the way ahead looked clear enough. By the time he'd left the trees behind, the visibility had improved again, but what was now in view was not much more inviting. Even though Terrel knew it could only be an hour or two past noon, it was so dark beneath the lowering roof of cloud that it felt like the hour after sunset, and the landscape revealed by the dim light looked bare and forlorn. There were patches of spiky grass, some bracken and a few straggly bushes, but they all seemed drained of their natural colour, and the earth between them was bare and littered with dark stones. To Terrel it was a wonder that anything grew there and, in spite of what he'd been told, he began to wonder if anybody could possibly live in such a bleak and oppressive terrain. Indeed, he could not understand why anyone should want to. He had been in the valley for less than two hours, and already he couldn't wait to get out again.

  The fact that the path he was on existed at all was proof that someone at least visited the area, but he had seen no sign of habitation. He went on, hoping he was still heading north, straining his eyes to peer through the gloom and listening for any unusual sounds. Instinctively, he moved as quietly as he was able, and when the constant dampness in the air made him cough, the noise seemed frighteningly loud, almost impious.

  After a while, the trail veered sharply to the left and plunged into a narrow defile. Until then Terrel had found it easy to navigate the constant slow incline, but now he was forced to scramble, using his good hand to steady himself as he made his way down over slippery, tumbled boulders. Small pools of water, narrow crevices and spongy patches of moss added to the pitfalls, until he began to wonder if he had lost the path altogether. However, his perseverance was rewarded when the ground finally levelled out once more, and he was able to walk normally to the lower end of the ravine. There the terrain opened out again, but he could see no more than a few hundred paces in any direction before the darkness and residual mist made everything a blur. As a result, the dilemma that now confronted him appeared insoluble. The trail split into three - and none of these paths continued in the direction he had been travelling. Terrel rejected the route which turned back and climbed up the hill to one side of the ravine, but there was nothing to choose between the other two, which went off at angles to left and right. Straight ahead there was only an area of marshy scrubland, and beyond that, he thought he could see the dark glint of open water.

  He was glancing around, hoping for some clue to help him decide which way to go, when his attention was caught by one of the boulders that flanked the entrance to the ravine. There seemed to be something unnatural about it. He went closer, and saw that one face of the black rock had been artificially shaped, smoothed so that it presented a flat surface that was angled up towards the cloud above. Not only that, but it had been inscribed with a complicated pattern of grooves and holes. Wavy lines crossed from left to right, set at various angles so they intersected each other in places; cup-like circles were surrounded by shallower spirals; and there were also several small x-shaped crosses etched into the stone. Terrel could make no sense of it at all, but the carvings were too precise and elaborate to be anything other than a deliberate design. What was more, there were several patches where the surface of the stone was shiny, as if it had been polished.

  'Do you consult the jasper?'

  Terrel started so violently at the sound of the voice that he almost lost his balance, and as he stretched out a hand to steady himself, his fingers landed on the carved stone. He glanced round to see who had been able to come so close without him seeing or hearing a thing, and saw that the newcomer was a girl - who was looking at his hand in wide-eyed horror.

  'Not there!' she exclaimed. 'Not there!'

  Terrel lifted his hand away from the rock, and wondered what he'd done to alarm her so.

  'This is a touchstone,'' she told him, but then her disapproval was replaced by a look of astonishment - and something more.

  'You're . . . you're the Messenger,' she stammered. 'I'm so sorry . . . I . .

  .'

  Still bemused by the manner of his reception, Terrel could not think of what to do, and just stared at the girl, astonished by her strange appearance. She was as tall as he was, but so thin that even his twisted frame seemed solid and robust by comparison. She was dressed in a simple tunic of dark woven cloth, her black hair was cut cruelly short, and her eyes seemed too big for the delicate

  features of her face — but it was her skin that held his disbelieving gaze. It was the colour of chalk, paler than any flesh he had ever seen. Even the dead bodies he'd pulled from the mud at Fenduca had had more colour.

  'I did not know,' she said now, apparently recovering her composure. 'Forgive my disrespect.' She spoke in the Maculian language, but her words seemed stilted and formal. More surprising still, she went down on one knee after she had spoken, and bowed her head in apparent deference.

  'Please get up,' Terrel said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. 'You haven't offended me. I was startled by your approach, that's all.'

  The girl looked up, but stayed where she was.

  'It is you who should forgive me,' he went on. 'I'm not familiar with touchstones or your ways.' He was afraid he had somehow broken some strange taboo.

  'That is of no matter. You are the Messenger.'

  'I'd prefer it if you called me Terrel. That's my name.'

  'Silverlight,' she breathed in delight.

  'Is that your name?'

  She laughed at that, adding to his confusion.

  'No, that's what your name means in the before-tongue,' she explained. 'My name is Imana.'

  'Please get up, Imana,' Terrel repeated, stretching out his good arm to help her stand up.

  To his astonishment, she took his hand in both of hers, and gently kissed the tattoo, before allowing herself to be drawn to her feet. She seemed as light as thistledown.

  Terrel stared into the girl's huge eyes. Her irises were of the palest blue, and the pupils within them were vast. She was gazing back at his own eyes with unabashed

  curiosity and wonder. Unlike many of his fellow countrymen on Vadanis, few people in Macul had reacted with horror to Terrel's crystalline orbs. Most soon seemed to get over their initial surprise, and regarded them with a mixture of interest and unease. But no one had reacted like Imana.

  After a few moments, they stepped apart. It was only then Terrel realized that

  - through their contact - his instincts had been able to confirm that she was healthy. On anyone else, he would have assumed that such a complexion meant they were seriously ill, but that was not the case here. She was meant to be this pale.

  'Why did you call me the Messenger?'

  'The jasper tells of your coming,' she replied. 'From long ago. We all know the signs to look for. I never thought it would be me.'

  'What signs?' he asked, though he t
hought he already knew.

  'Your eyes, and the rings of life,' she replied, pointing to the markings on his hand. 'And you come from the burning lands.'

  The fact that he was evidently part of some local legend - and yet another prophecy! — provoked mixed feelings in Terrel's heart. It was reassuring in one sense, because it showed that he was meant to be there. On the other hand, it complicated matters. His journey to Talazoria had already taken much longer than he would have liked, and he wanted no more distractions on the way. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the Messenger was probably supposed to do something in the valley.

  'Come,' Imana said. 'The elders will want to meet you.'

  His suspicions deepening, Terrel prepared to follow her down the right-hand trail, only to have her halt suddenly.

  'What am I thinking?' she exclaimed.

  Terrel could see that the girl was both excited and nervous as she returned to the touchstone and lightly pressed the tips of her fingers to each of the shiny places in turn. It was immediately clear what must have produced their polished appearance; this was obviously a ritual that had been repeated many thousands of times.

  'Now we can go,' she declared eagerly.

  'Should I do the same?' he asked, gesturing at the stone.

  'It would honour us,' she replied, her pale face glowing with pleasure.

  'Is there an order in which I should touch the points?' He couldn't remember the sequence she had used, and was afraid of making another mistake.

  Imana nodded, and stood at his side indicating the moves he should make. Her own small hand was trembling as she did so. Terrel felt nothing unusual in the cool surface of the rock, but a strange feeling of satisfaction swept over him when he'd finished, and he began to wonder if there really was some magic hidden in the patterns of the touchstone.

  Then they set off together down the path, and Terrel found, to his surprise, that his legs no longer felt weary. Imana offered to carry his pack, but he refused. It was light enough, but she looked so frail that he didn't want to burden her. As they walked she kept glancing at him, half shy, half fascinated, as if reassuring herself that he was still there.