by Roger Taylor
Outside, the sun disappeared behind ragged storm clouds blowing from the east, and the light in the Library took on a gloomier cast.
'Gulda,’ he said faintly.
Gulda's eyes narrowed slightly as she caught his tone. Indicating the door with a movement of her head she mouthed, ‘food’ to Tirilen. As the girl left, Gulda sat down by Hawklan and rested her hands on her stick.
'Gulda,’ he said. ‘I had a dream last night. At least, I thought it was a dream at the time, but now I'm not sure.’ He shivered slightly. ‘It was very strange.'
Gulda did not speak, but she nodded her head encouragingly. Hawklan's voice made Gavor stop his preening.
'Andawyr was here,’ Hawklan continued, pointing to the chair where he had seen the little man.
'Andawyr?’ Gulda inquired.
Hawklan gestured apologetically. ‘Someone I met at the Gretmearc.’ Then, in amplification, ‘Strange little man. I owe him a great deal. He and Gavor saved my life. Said he belonged to the Cadwanol, whoever they are.'
Gulda's eyes widened and, for an instant, her fierce expression disappeared into one of profound surprise. For that same instant, Hawklan had a vision of a face that had once been strikingly beautiful.
'The Cadwanol,’ she said softly, to herself. ‘After all this time. Still watching.’ She lifted a hand to cover her face and sat motionless with her head bowed for several minutes. When she looked up, her face was full of self-reproach.
'I haven't asked you what happened at the Gretmearc, Hawklan,’ she said quietly, ‘although I could see you were keeping something from the villagers. I'm sorry. I'm becoming as foolish as I'm old. Will you tell me everything now please?’ Gavor cocked his head on one side at Gulda's subdued tone. ‘Everything,’ she repeated. Some of her old manner returned and leaning forward she prodded Hawklan's knee with her long forefinger. ‘Everything since this ... tinker Lord arrived that you haven't told the others.'
As Hawklan recounted his tale, Gulda folded her hands on top of her stick and rested her head on them, eyes closed and downcast. When finally he finished, she did not move, but Hawklan sensed a tension in her.
'Now tell me of this dream,’ she said. Mindful of her earlier admonition, Hawklan recounted Andawyr's words and actions as accurately as he could. It was all still peculiarly vivid in his mind and he shivered a little again as he finished.
Though she showed no response, the tension in Gulda seemed to build then, abruptly, her pale face became even paler, the tight mouth quivered and her long powerful hands shook as they clenched the top of the stick. Hawklan became alarmed, thinking she was about to faint. He put out a hand as if to catch her, and she reached out and took hold of it. Her grip was frighteningly powerful, but the hand was cold and shaking. ‘I'll be all right in a moment,’ she said faintly. Hawklan winced at the pain that radiated from her.
Gavor clunked across the table and looked at her strangely. Gulda caught his deep black eye, and her face softened.
'Ah,’ she said softly, almost to herself. ‘Faithful bird. Your people did true service in their time.’ Then directly to Gavor, ‘You'll have to forgive an impatient old woman her sharp tongue and foolishness. There'll be no more. I doubt we've the time.'
Gavor had many uncomfortable qualities but pettiness was not one. ‘Dear girl,’ he said. ‘I'd rather have any amount of your abuse than see you wilt like this.'
'What's the matter, Gulda?’ Hawklan asked.
She did not answer, but remained with her head lowered for a little while. Then, as though she were a sapling that bowed only while the wind blew, she sat upright. Her face was still white, but it was filled with a stern resolution and dignity that stopped Hawklan speaking further.
She relinquished Hawklan's hand and placed her own steadily back on top of her stick. ‘Tell me again what he said. Exactly, mind.'
Hawklan repeated his tale.
'Do these names mean anything to you, Hawklan?’ she asked.
Hawklan shrugged. ‘I keep coming across them in these,’ he said, waving his hand over the books scattered across the table. ‘And in some of the tales on the Gate. Andawyr talked about Sumeral. Called him the Corruptor, the Great Enemy ... the Enemy of Life.'
Gulda nodded. ‘Didn't he explain?'
Hawklan shook his head. ‘A little, but we were attacked before he could finish.’ Gulda nodded.
The sound of a door closing quietly made Hawklan look up, and Tirilen came quietly into the room carrying food and drink. She walked over the soft carpeting as gently as if it had been a spring meadow and laid a carved tray at Hawklan's elbow.
Gavor cast his eye approvingly over the wares offered. ‘Be enough to spare for a famished avian, won't there?’ he whispered. Tirilen caught the look on Gulda's face. ‘Shall I leave?’ she said. Gavor looked up in alarm.
'No,’ said Gulda. ‘Eat. And stay. You're his friend. He'll need you. And to be strong you must also know the truth.'
Gavor began to eat with noisy gusto.
Hawklan picked up a piece of fruit and, toying with it absently, looked at Gulda.
She in turn looked straight into his green eyes. ‘You must trust me, Hawklan, like you trusted this ... Andawyr. It was probably because of your trust that he could reach you in his hour of need and give us his message.'
Hawklan found the piercing blue eyes disconcerting. ‘I'll trust you, Gulda. I feel no hurt in you for all your ferocity. And you're a focus for these who're trying to reach me.'
'Yes,’ said Gulda. ‘Your figures in the mist. I'm afraid they're a mystery to me. I saw nothing ... but you're a special person and, there's a lot I don't know, Hawklan, a lot.’ She paused uncertainly. ‘However, what I do know, you need to know. Your ignorance is pitiful and probably dangerous.'
As it had done in Andawyr's tent, the word ignorance raked through Hawklan like an icy wind stirring long-lain leaves.
'Tell me what you know,’ he said flatly. ‘Perhaps you can thread these happenings together.'
Gulda's eyes narrowed at his tone, then she lowered them for a while as if she had either not decided exactly what to say or was trying to recall a tale she had not told for many years.
'Let me speak and then ask your questions, Hawklan,’ she said, reluctantly shedding the last obstacle between her tale and its exposition. Hawklan nodded and Gulda began.
'These people here think of me as just a cantankerous old teacher who's come back to persecute them in their middle age like I did when they were children.’ A smile flitted across her face, like sunshine off a wave. ‘Well,’ she admitted, ‘I am cantankerous, but only because the old is truer than they can imagine. But I haven't come back to persecute them ... although I might.’ Another brief smile. ‘A little, just for old times’ sake.’ Then the smile vanished utterly. ‘No. I've come back because something is stirring. Something dark and evil that once spread its stain over the whole world...'
She stared straight ahead with unfocused eyes for some time before grimacing self-consciously. ‘I'm sorry,’ she went on. ‘It's so long since I've spoken of these things it's not only difficult to know where to start, I didn't know how painful it was going to be.'
'If it distresses you, Gulda...’ Hawklan began, but she waved him to silence.
'No, no,’ she said quickly. And then, in an almost offhand manner, ‘Anyway, it's of no consequence why I came here. I should be old enough by now not to put too much store in my own assessment of my motives, eh? Now I'm here I see my task is to instruct you. Then perhaps I can return to my own problem.’ Apparently satisfied with this conclusion, she sat up briskly and began like a village storyteller.
* * *
Chapter 21
'A long time ago, out of the terrible heat of the Great Searing came four figures. Shining white and brilliant, they walked the cooling world shaping it with their songs and their love into a great celebration of their sheer joy at being.
'Many shapes it took, for great and endlessly varied was their joy. An
d when the time was due, they formed it as it is now so that their own creations could create in turn and celebrate their own joy at being.
'And these four were called the Guardians: Sphaeera, Guardian of the Air and the winds and the sky; Enartion, Guardian of the Oceans and Lakes and all the rivers and streams; Theowart, Guardian of the Earth, its mountains and flatlands, islands and continents; and then, greatest of all, the First Comer, Ethriss, the Guardian of all Living Things.
'And the Guardians looked at their work and at the Great Harmony of its Song, and were content. And they rested; each fading into his wardship, so that only Ethriss retained his original form, lying atop an unclimbable mountain, hidden from the eyes of men by Sphaeera's mists.
'But a fifth figure had come from the heat of the Great Searing, with lesser figures at his heels. And He shone red and baleful and carried an ancient corruption with Him from what had gone before. Brooding in His evil, and detesting the work of the Guardians, but daunted by their power and might, He remained still and silent until they rested. Then He came forth, quietly and with great cunning, for He knew that to wake them would be to court His own destruction. For they would know Him. And He walked among men for many generations, sowing His corruption softly and gently, with sweet words and lying truths, slowly souring the Great Harmony that the Guardians had created.
'And so beautiful was He that none could see the evil in Him...'
Gulda stopped her tale abruptly and looked at Hawklan with a strange sad expression on her face. ‘And He was beautiful, Hawklan, so beautiful.’ Hawklan felt a myriad nuances in her voice but they were snatched from him as the momentum of her old tale carried her forward again.
'And so wise was He that some men forgot the sleeping Guardians and took Him for a god and worshipped him, calling Him Sumeral, the Timeless One. And from their worship He drew great power, both in His spirit and in His possession of men's hearts and minds. And men multiplied and spread across the whole world, and as they did, so His power grew until it rivalled that of the Guardians themselves.'
Again, Gulda stopped, as if recalling some long-forgotten memory. She raised a cautionary finger and spoke in her normal voice.
'You mustn't think to judge these people, Hawklan. Sumeral wrought His damage always with reasoned and subtle argument. He narrowed men's vision, so that they could see only their own needs and desires. And seeing only these, they became discontented. He blunted their awareness of others—not just people, but plants, animals, everything. He made them forget their deep kinship, their reliance on and their need for all other things that were. He made them forget the joy of being, Hawklan, and knowing they'd lost something, people searched even more desperately for something to fill the emptiness He'd created.'
She leaned forward, and tapped her raised finger into the empty air. ‘So more and more He showed them how to satisfy these needs and desires. But each gratification led only to more emptiness and to more desire. And each was always at the cost of some previous treasure for which they now felt nothing. I fancy after twenty years in Orthlund you'll find this hard to imagine, but animals were slaughtered utterly, forests wasted, mountains blasted, great tracts of land destroyed, even the air and the sea became foul with poisons.'
Hawklan lifted his hand to interrupt. At first Gulda had intoned her tale like some village storyteller. Her narrative was similar to many he had read in the past week, and he was prepared to hear old stories retold if that was what she wanted. But what was she saying now? She was right, he could not imagine such extremities, not least because, stripped of her storytelling lilt, the simple words seemed to fall on him like stinging hailstones.
'Gulda, I don't understand,’ he said, his perplexity showing openly. ‘You're telling us an old fairy tale as if we were children...’ He stopped abruptly as he saw the expression on her face. It was not the angry irritation or stern reproof that such a comment might have been expected to invoke, but a terrible lonely sadness, as from an aching pain too deep to be reached by any solace. His eyes opened almost in horror as the healer in him touched on the edge of this torment, and a realization dawned on him. Gulda saw it, and nodded her head slowly.
'Yes, Hawklan,’ she said. ‘You see correctly. This is no child's tale. It's the truth. I tell it like an old fireside lay because any other way needs my mind and my heart, and the pain of memory is too much for me.’ Tears formed in her eyes but no convulsion shook her mouth or face.
Hawklan's mind washed to and fro like a pebble at the edge of a storm-tossed lake. For a moment he actually became dizzy and he put his hands to his temples to steady himself. Something was shaking his entire being. Here was this silly old woman telling him fairy tales, just as Andawyr had, when he needed answers to his many questions. He cursed himself for his weakness in hoping for so much from this strange creature. And yet ... And yet ... she believed what she was saying, that was obvious. And ... he believed it, too, even though reason railed against it. But ... ?
'How can you know it's true?’ he asked at last.
Gulda looked at him and spoke simply and without hesitation. ‘That's a tale for another telling, Hawklan. And probably not mine. Do you doubt me?'
Hawklan recoiled from the pain in her look as the bright blue eyes pierced him. This time, they too were filled with doubt, but such doubt that his own fretting of the last few weeks dwindled into insignificance.
Had she placed too much hope in a foolish empty-headed man who had some little skill in healing and who had perhaps stumbled by chance into the possession of an ancient and magical Castle?
For an instant he felt again her appalling despair and loneliness at the realization that her long, aching journey might after all have to continue, and continue into who knew what distant darkness. Something in his mind shifted, like the dropping of the keystone into an arch, and the doubts and turmoil ceased.
He took her face between his two hands. ‘I'm sorry, Gulda,’ he said. ‘I didn't understand.'
She lifted her stick and placed it on the table, then she covered his hands with her own and for a moment closed her eyes.
'And I'm sorry I doubted you, Hawklan. For an instant I thought you were the wrong man and that I'd have to ... But I see now your doubts were the last throes of your life with the Orthlundyn. It would be a sorry man indeed who wanted to leave what you've had here.'
Hawklan nodded slightly. ‘Finish your story—your history,’ he said gently.
Gulda smiled sadly and releasing Hawklan's hands recovered her stick. The mutual doubting had been cathartic. She continued her tale.
'Not everyone was seduced by His cunning though. Many remembered the tales of the Guardians handed down through the generations and saw Sumeral for what He was. They resisted Him.’ She shook her head. ‘There's many a tale there to bring joy and sadness to you. Many a tale.’ She held up her hands as though she were clasping a sphere. ‘Strangely, as those who opposed Him shrank in number, so their resistance hardened. And even among those under His sway, there were murmurs against Him when the degradation of the land and the seas became increasingly obvious.'
She leaned forward, nearing the crux of her tale. ‘So, ever the master of originality, He created His most cunning and evil device—He taught His people war.'
She stretched out the word, war, and it sounded like a death knell.
Gavor cocked his head on one side.
Gulda lapsed into her sonorous storyteller's voice again. ‘He delved into the deepest pit of darkness that can be dug in men's minds and drew out wild-eyed, screaming war. “As you worship Me, so you must worship this, My most mighty creation, for it alone can lead you to crush those who stand between you and the greatness that is yours by right".'
Hawklan looked at one of the window images brought into the Library by the mirror stones. Outside, storm clouds flew overhead, themselves like raging hordes.
Gulda became matter-of-fact again. ‘With this He hoped to quell the murmurings of His own people, and destroy those
who opposed Him. And for a while He was successful. But He'd overreached himself. The clamour and torment that only war can bring woke the Guardians.'
Gulda rested her head on her hand and shook it bitterly. ‘Oh, Hawklan. There are so many terrible “ifs” in this tale. If the Guardians hadn't slept, if they'd wakened earlier or been less drowsy from their long sleep. If, if, if. Such a long and terrible word.'
Hawklan waited as the shadows of the clouds marched across the Library.
Gulda continued. ‘Sumeral felt their waking, and He was afraid. His power equalled theirs, but He knew that to combat them directly would be to risk His own destruction, even if He were victorious. So it spurred Him to yet another evil deed.’ A little of the storyteller's lilt returned. ‘He took His three most terrible regents and filled them with secret knowledge so that they became the most powerful of all men, then He gave them immortality and bound them with ties unimaginable to become ever His servants.'
'The Uhriel,’ said Hawklan softly. Gulda nodded.
'Creost,’ said Hawklan.
'With power over the waters of the earth, to bind Enartion.'
'Dar Hastuin.'
'With power over the air and the sky, to bind Sphaeera.'
'And Oklar.'
Gulda paused. ‘The greatest of them all. With power over the land and mountains, to bind Theowart.'
The words hung in the air like a chanted catechism.
'They it was who locked the Guardians in combat and tended to matters of earthly generalship, leaving Sumeral to face Ethriss unhindered.'
Into Hawklan's mind came the tales of battles and glory that he had been reading about so recently. He felt a reluctant stir of excitement.
'Tell me about the war,’ he said.
Gulda caught a note in his voice and looked at him for a long time without speaking, her eyes seeming to pierce into his very soul. Her face wrinkled into an expression of disgust and resignation, mingled with compassion and understanding.