by Roger Taylor
‘Listen!’ Gulda said sharply, silencing him.
Andawyr nodded gratefully. ‘This is very difficult,’ he said. ‘Ideas are corning together – rushing together – that are shaking the very foundations of almost everything I know – or thought I knew.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘When Ethriss formed the Cadwanol, it was a desperate time. He gathered all manner of learned men and women together from everywhere to search into ways of opposing Sumeral. But even then he told them they must “go beyond”. Insofar as any of them thought about it they presumed it was his way of telling them to pursue every avenue in search of the skills and the knowledge that would bring Sumeral down – something they were determined to do anyway. Later, in safer times, the phrase was handed down, and mouthed a great deal – not least by myself – but I wouldn’t say that any great thought was given to what he really meant. Now, I suspect, its real meaning is becoming apparent.’ He looked around at his audience before continuing, rather self-consciously. ‘As we’ve studied, thought, tested, experimented, through the generations, learning more and more about . . . everything . . . we’ve unearthed and explained many great mysteries – particularly so since the war. Some of our discoveries – the true turbulent, flickering nature of the roots of existence – the strange, vast arches of time and distance out there . . .’ He glanced upwards. ‘Present great challenges to the way we think about and perceive things, but strange though they are – and they really are very strange – there’s a rightness about them that builds on what has gone before, that truly measures the world and its many parts and that draws us forward. But there’ve been other problems, in many ways less profound, that have brought us to a halt like a ship suddenly striking hidden rocks.’ He brought his fist into his palm in emphasis. ‘In the past we’ve always tended to resolve – I should, perhaps, say dismiss – these by saying that, despite our best endeavours, our theories must be flawed, our measurements insufficiently accurate etc – quite often with some validity. Lately, though, this hasn’t been enough. Now we know that our latest theories aren’t that flawed, our most recent measurements aren’t that inaccurate.’ He held out an arm towards the mountains, their hulking presence now only implied by the absence of stars. Then he took a deep breath and concluded in a rush, ‘It appears that the mountains are older than they should be.’ He looked down at his hands. ‘We are older than we should be. The stars themselves are. Everything is older than it should be. It isn’t possible that the world we know could have come into being in the time that has passed since the Great Searing.’
An uncertain silence greeted this revelation.
‘But the Great Searing is the beginning of all things.’ Gulda’s voice was uncharacteristically unsure. ‘The Guardians themselves came from it, they made everything from it. They . . .’ She faltered and stopped.
Andawyr slowly shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, very gently. ‘Proofs are there for you to see. Bring your sharpest wits, your strongest fist. You may lay the odd one in the dust, but not all of them – mercy knows, we’ve tried hard enough ourselves. I’m forced to admit to myself now that too many lines of good reasoning and tested experiment go back through time and do not converge at the Great Searing. It was obviously the beginning of many things – Ethriss and the Guardians, Sumeral and some of His creatures, such life as we know. But it was not the beginning of all things. Not by tens and hundreds of millions of years. I think Ethriss sensed this when he gave us that injunction.’
There was another awkward silence, then Antyr spoke.
‘In the most common of the Serenstad Creation Myths, the creator, the Weaver of the Great Dream, MaraVestriss – your Ethriss, presumably – didn’t create men, but discovered them when his son Marastrumel tried to tear apart the fabric of the Great Dream in a rage. The story says that Marastrumel couldn’t damage the fabric because it was woven from a single thread that was of the nature of the timeless time beyond the Dream and was indivisible. But in the new pattern he made with his violence could be seen the world of men and many others beside – all bearing the mark of both MaraVestriss and his son. And when MaraVestriss saw this, he realized that he didn’t know how such a thing could have come about. And, as he struggled with this, the question came to him, “How is it that out of the timeless time, that which is indivisible, I became?” And then he knew himself to be truly ignorant and he withdrew from the Great Dream, determined to find an answer to his ignorance before he would attempt to repair the damage his son had wrought.’
Antyr’s voice had become that of a fireside storyteller as he spoke the final sentences, but there was no incongruity.
Andawyr blew out a long slow breath and stroked Dar-volci’s head. ‘I think your myth might have more wisdom in it than much of our learning. It’s certainly not unreasonable to imagine that Ethriss asked himself such a question, nor surprising that he was unable to answer it. And given he was wise enough to know that children invariably surprise their parents sooner or later, it’s not unreasonable to imagine he’d look to them to answer it for him.’
Hawklan shifted restlessly. ‘I can’t see what this has to do with our present concerns, Andawyr, but it’s remarkable stuff to be casually announcing on a quiet Orthlundyn evening. How is it we’ve had no wind of it before now?’
Andawyr made a vaguely apologetic gesture. ‘Until quite recently it was just the backwash of unrelated ideas. Profound, fascinating, far-reaching, certainly, but not urgent.’
‘And now?’
‘And now, I don’t know. Bear with me, please. As I said, there are so many things coming together, it’s difficult to order them. But, for what it’s worth, I think that Thyrn has touched on this time before the Great Searing. Or touched on some lingering remnant of it.’ He paused and his eyes became distant. ‘Endryk told us that the place to which both Vashnar and Thyrn were drawn was like the Thlosgaral – dead, and barren – a place that seems to draw the life out of people – a place where crystals can be found.’ Hawklan leaned forward but Andawyr answered his question before he asked it. ‘I could give you several long lectures about crystals,’ he said. ‘But then you wouldn’t know much. Put simply, they can store and transform the Power – amplify it, absorb it. They can be very dangerous to anyone who can use the Power. That’s why we sent Atelon and Dar-volci to find out where they were coming from when they suddenly appeared at the Gretmearc. We used to use them for all sorts of things – latterly mainly the Slips for moving about the Cadwanen quickly, if you recall, but . . .’ He shook his head thoughtfully. ‘They distort things – distance, even time. As we learned more about them we used them less and less. Now they’re just part of the Cadwanen’s defence system.’
Gulda grunted. ‘Why would Ethriss create them if they were so dangerous?’
‘I don’t think he did,’ Andawyr retorted. ‘In fact, I’m inclined to agree with Atelon – they’re made things.’
‘Which means?’
‘Which means that someone else made them. It’s not possible they came about by some random natural process – their inner structures are far too complex, too ordered.’
‘Just because you can’t account for them doesn’t mean that’s the way of it, does it? How else would they come to be scattered all over the Thlosgaral?’
Gulda’s question ended in a dying fall as she anticipated Andawyr’s answer.
‘I’d surmise that they were made by the people who came before the Great Searing and that they were part of whatever weapon or weapons actually caused it,’ he said, quietly, but very steadily. He had the air of a man who had just attained a reluctant goal but was ready to move on.
‘They could be used as weapons, these crystals?’ Hawklan asked into the ensuing silence.
‘Oh yes. Using them as weapons is easy. It was using them more creatively that always taxed us,’ Andawyr replied. ‘From what we already know, it needs no great feat of imagination to see great arrays of them linked to form weapons of truly appalling destructiveness.’ He met Hawklan�
��s gaze squarely. ‘Or that could draw the life from – unravel the very essence of – an enemy. Reshape it, remake it. However Ethriss came by them, we should consider ourselves fortunate that Sumeral didn’t, or this world would have been His long ago.’
Hawklan looked at him searchingly for a moment, then said, ‘This is a great edifice to be building on the foundation laid by one young man.’
‘It would be if it were,’ Andawyr replied resignedly but without any resentment. ‘But it’s not. Now I look back on it, it’s been a long time in the making, and it rests on far more than young Thyrn’s testimony.’ He became explanatory. ‘What he’s told us is more like the keystone to an arch. It gives the ideas stability – holds them together.’
‘Apart,’ Gulda corrected absently. Andawyr looked at her, then raised his eyes upwards as he silently mouthed the word ‘apart’. Then, unexpectedly, both of them burst out laughing. Gulda’s laugh was rarely heard. It was that of a young woman. It twined around Andawyr’s guffaw to make a sound that infected both Hawklan and Antyr, drawing them into it even though they scarcely knew what they were laughing at and despite the darkness of the concerns they were discussing.
‘Good for some, picnicking in the balmy evening while others are slaving over their work.’
It was Usche, moving towards them through the soft light. Behind her confident stride came the large and uneasy form of Ar-Billan. Andawyr extended a welcoming arm and signalled them to sit down. Usche’s eyes were wide with excitement but, seeing Gulda and Hawklan, she hesitated. ‘I’m not interrupting anything important, am I?’ she asked.
‘Quite possibly,’ Andawyr replied, still laughing. ‘But don’t worry about it. What have you discovered that won’t wait until the morning?’ He glanced at the papers she was carrying. They were the ones he had given her earlier. ‘Not given up so soon, have you? Or are you going to tell me you’ve resolved my paradoxes and confusions?’
‘Well, in a manner of speaking, I think we have,’ Usche replied, excited again.
‘We?’ Andawyr queried.
Usche indicated Ar-Billan who was sitting stiffly with his hands gripping his knees. Usche bent her head close to Andawyr’s and lowered her voice. ‘He’s got his own way of doing things – a bit laboured, but very clear-thinking once he stops standing in his own light.’
Andawyr chuckled at her matronly manner. ‘Show me what you’ve done, then.’ He took the papers and waved them in her face with fatherly menace. ‘I have to say that this took me some effort, to put it mildly . . .’
‘I can see that – it’s incredible work. I’d never have . . .’
‘To put it mildly,’ Andawyr repeated, with heavy emphasis, cutting across her enthusiasm. ‘And I’d come to a complete dead end.’
‘Yes and no,’ Usche persisted, with a mixture of nervousness and pride. ‘Yes, if you wanted complete rigour, though I’ve a suspicion that might be impossible in principle, but no, if you accept what we’ve been listening to these past days – clearly separate and distinct worlds apparently existing simultaneously, and accessible.’ Abruptly aware that she was waving an emphasizing finger in her mentor’s face, she faltered, then added with a slight stammer, ‘Just as a working assumption, of course.’ The hesitation, however, was only temporary and some of her excitement resurfaced almost immediately. ‘The only thing is, I’m not sure what the conclusion we’ve come to means. The reasoning’s sound, I’m sure, but the result doesn’t seem to make sense.’
‘Your logical pathway has led you into a pit, has it, young woman?’ Gulda said, watching the exchange keenly.
‘I’m not sure what it’s led me into, Memsa; that’s why I’m here.’ Usche took the papers from Andawyr and riffled through them. ‘Are you sure these inserted figures are correct? They’re not what we normally use.’
‘Oh yes, they’re correct,’ Andawyr confirmed, soberly, taking the papers back. ‘They’ve changed.’
‘Changed? But . . .’
‘Changed.’ Andawyr’s tone allowed no dispute. ‘Excuse me for a moment,’ he said to his companions. Then, gripping his nose with one hand he began thumbing his way through the papers with the other. The others watched and listened in some amusement as he emitted a variety of clucks, whistles, and tuneless hummings. After a while, however, he fell silent and his face became serious.
Reaching the end, he carefully stacked the papers and, placing them on his lap, laid his hand on them protectively. Usche looked at him anxiously. ‘Have I done something silly?’ she asked, unable to read his expression.
‘You’ve done nothing silly,’ Andawyr said. ‘Nothing at all. This is fine work. I’d not thought to have seen a way through the tangle I’d created so soon, but you’ve cut through it neatly and elegantly.’
‘Only one part of it,’ Usche said, almost apologetic.
‘It was the part that mattered,’ Andawyr replied quietly.
Something in his voice made both Gulda and Hawklan look at him keenly.
‘But the conclusion?’ Usche asked. ‘What does it mean?’
Andawyr looked upwards briefly. Then he stood up and, without speaking, walked away from the circle of watchers and into the castle’s enveloping shadow.
* * * *
Deep beneath the towers of Anderras Darion, in the Labyrinth that guarded the Armoury, something changed.
Chapter 26
‘Antyr. Wake up.’
Antyr rolled over in response to the voice and to the hand gently shaking him. With some difficulty he first forced his eyes open, then screwed them tight in an attempt to focus on the offending soul who was so relentlessly rousing him.
It was Andawyr.
Antyr levered himself up into a sitting position.
‘Come on, hurry up, it’s like chewing fog talking to you when you’re in this condition.’ Tarrian’s maliciously hearty intrusion boomed into Antyr’s mind, making him wince.
‘Clear off, will you?’ he growled peevishly. Andawyr started and stood back sharply, prompting Antyr into a hasty apology. ‘Not you, him!’ This declamation was accompanied by the throwing of a pillow towards the offending wolf. Tarrian stood motionless and watched disdainfully as it slithered along the floor past him.
‘Should I leave you?’ Andawyr fluttered, anxious not to become involved in a domestic quarrel.
‘No, no,’ Antyr reassured him. ‘Of course not. It’s just that Tarrian can’t walk past a downed man without kicking him – or worse. He says it’s his predatory instinct, I say it’s his malevolent disposition.’
‘Actually, it’s marking out friendly territory,’ Tarrian said with the patronizing tone of someone unjustly slurred. Antyr was aware of Grayle chuckling quietly in the background. ‘We’re going to eat. See you down there.’
‘What? Down where?’
But the wolves were gone. Antyr looked at Andawyr who was doing his best to understand the one side of this conversation he could hear. He was also unsuccessfully disguising a jigging impatience.
‘Is something wrong?’ Antyr asked, rubbing his face with both hands and yawning. ‘You wandered off very mysteriously last night.’
Andawyr let a little of the jig out, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and back again. ‘Oh. I’m sorry about that. I needed to think about what Usche and Ar-Billan had done – still do, actually – it’s very . . .’ He frowned as though he was being drawn back into some unwanted preoccupation, then he managed to wave the subject aside. ‘We’ll talk about that later. Right now there’s something I’d like you to see. I can’t think why it didn’t come to me days ago.’
‘What?’
‘Oh, just an idea.’
By now becoming familiar with Andawyr’s aptitude for forgetting conversational niceties when he was engrossed, Antyr motioned to him to open the shutters. As they unfurled to merge with the surrounding carvings, a dull light drifted into the room. Antyr stood up and gazed out of the window. A grey sky greeted him, scarcely more awake than he was.
He gave Andawyr a baleful look. ‘It’s only just past dawn, isn’t it?’ he said.
Andawyr joined him by the window, then unearthed a timepiece from somewhere in the depths of his robe. He consulted it, squinted at the sky, and replied, ‘Yes,’ quite simply.
Antyr blinked owlishly. ‘This, whatever it is, that you want me to see, that should’ve occurred to you days ago – will it keep a little while? Say until I’m washed and dressed.’ He patted his stomach and gave Andawyr a none too genial look. ‘Perhaps even eaten a little?’
Andawyr looked puzzled and then a little guilty. He made one or two vague gestures of apology and acquiescence, concluding with, ‘I’ll . . . wait for you in the refectory downstairs.’
When Antyr eventually joined him in the almost empty refectory, Andawyr was poring over the papers that Usche had given him the previous night. In front of him was a bowl of untouched and dejected-looking cereal. Tarrian and Grayle were at his feet, both chewing noisily on large bones that they had gulled out of the cooks. Antyr was about to speak, then he changed his mind and went to collect food for himself. As he sat down opposite Andawyr and began eating, the Cadwanwr was muttering and whistling to himself. He was still seemingly oblivious to everything around him when Antyr had finished.
Antyr watched him for a little while in some disbelief, then, by way of experiment, said, ‘Give that to Tarrian and Grayle if you’re not going to eat it.’
Andawyr grunted and, without looking up from the papers, picked up the bowl of cereal and held it out underneath the table. The two wolves ate it greedily, though with sufficient care to avoid knocking the bowl out of his hand. Andawyr’s concentration on his work was undiminished.
‘Sumeral and the Uhriel are at the gate, asking for you,’ Antyr said.
‘Hm.’
‘I said, Sumeral and the Uhriel are at the gate, asking for you,’ Antyr repeated, softly rapping his knuckles on the table.
Andawyr frowned, then looked up and met Antyr’s ironic gaze with one that took a disconcertingly long time to show any sign of recognition. When it finally did, it was followed by a sudden flurry of confused activity which included the question, ‘Have you been here long?’