The Tears of Sisme

by Peter Hutchinson

  The doctor detached himself from the wrangle about the burial regulations and came for a last look at the farmer. Abruptly he bent down for a closer examination, then straightened with a puzzled expression. His call brought the farmer’s wife hobbling across, followed slowly by the small officer, whose face stiffened into annoyance at the doctor’s words.

  “Looks like the old bugger’s going to cheat the knackers this time.” Harol’s guffaw was only half-stifled. “ Short-ass here is really niggled that he’s made a fool of himself over nothing.”

  "That’s..." The doctor searched for the right word, caught between amazement and professional scepticism. "That's unbelievable."

  The small officer glanced at him sharply. "D'you mean sorcery, doctor?"

  "I don't know. A few minutes ago that man was as good as dead. Now he's ……well, look at him: in a few days he’ll be as healthy as you or me. From what I could see, he had a collapsed lung, a broken back, rupture of major internal organs..."

  "Spare me the details. Would you say that this cure could not have been effected by any ordinary means?"

  The army medic stared at his questioner. "Didn't you hear a word I said? It's not a cure, it's a bloody miracle."

  “And you yourself had no part in this ‘miracle’.”

  “Are you daft? By the Stone, any doctor who could do that would be famous from one end of the world to the other.”

  “Then I must assume the baneful influences came from another source.” He scowled at the travellers. “Foreigners too, I’ve no doubt.”

  His shout brought more soldiers on the scene at a run and in a moment they were surrounded. Harol explained in disgust as they were led away. "I'm sorry, fellas, I don’t know if either of you had a hand in the corpse’s resurrection, but that’s what got us arrested. Rat-face must have a thing about wizards, or perhaps he's just pissed off at missing the death tax on another stiff."

  The soldiers marched them off to the nearby barracks and pushed them into a small cell, after relieving them of the remains of Dazzak’s gold.

  They were in Karkor. Maybe they were even in time. But they had no idea how to find their friends, let alone the Talisman, and they were in prison.

  Part Four ~ The Tears of Sisme

  Chapter 26

  The witch stood on the hill and looked down upon the battle. Countless were the hordes of their enemies and often they pressed hard upon the Lord of the Tarsi and on his guard about the standard, yet ever the shield of her magic was around him and in the thickest of the fight he was unscathed.

  Seeing that they could not prevail against her power, the sorcerors of Harrn brought forth a strategem prepared long since and sent a black mist to cover the plain to shield the armies from her sight. Sisme could not penetrate the mist and raged at her blindness, until she perceived that the barrier was woven entirelyfrom the breath of the dying by the evil art of Jez-Jem. Mistress of this art as of all magic, swiftly she parted the veil, but for all her speed she was too late. Far out upon the plain Warherc and all his guard lay struck to the ground and a darkness blacker even than that unearthly mist settled about the heart of Sisme.

  And in the fury of her grief she herself called forth the power of Jez-jem, which she had renounced in her youth, and unloosed terror upon the sorcerers and their armies such as they had never seen. At her bidding the eye of the sun was closed so no man could see his fellow: the earth shuddered and opened deep mouths whose throats filled with bodies: and across the plain a great wind arose bringing down a storm of lightning and hail which cut men in pieces like steel arrows. The enemy fled hither and thither to escape the terror of Sisme and many thousands there were that died that day before her wrath was assuaged.

  At the end she descended to the plain and raising the body of her lord by her art she bore him gently up the hill. And when she laid him down, behold! his eyes were open. But the joy of Sisme was brief, for she perceived in the mirror of his gaze what she had done and bitter was the knowledge of it. Through so many years together they had held back the forces of evil and laboured to scour them from the world. Yet in the instant of her anger she herself had summoned them here to the very heart of the Kingdom.

  Sisme wept. Queen of the High Kingdom, the most powerful witch who ever lived among us, in the hour of her victory she wept like a child bereft. A night and a day and yet another night she grieved for what she had done and even more for what she must do. All the while the Lord of the Tarsi lay in her arms wounded sore, but deeper by far was the agony of Sisme.

  Then as dawn of the second day touched the pale mountain-tops far above, Warherc groaned and forgetting all in the fever of his pain he called on Sisme to help him stand, that he might survey friend and foe upon the field of battle.

  "Friend and foe are gone, my lord," she replied. "There is no battle here save one."

  "Then win it," Warherc replied, "while you have the strength." For ever was the heart of Sisme open to him and straightway he perceived her torment.

  And Sisme arose and put off her crimson robe and her bracelets of sacred hair and her necklace of pinnet stones. Standing naked as she was born, she spake aloud: "Let this be an end. I renounce all my magic, the Black and the Jez-Jem, the White and the Red, and the Magic of the Spirits also. Sisme the Witch is no more."

  At these words the dawn wind died and all the land about fell silent.

  "Should you not summon the Spirits to your witness," asked the Lord of the Tarsi,"that they shall not return to trouble you?"

  "The Spirits know that I am gone. Last night I felt them search for me in vain, calling me with power. Fear not, what has died here cannot be reawakened. It is finished."

  Then Sisme looked sadly upon Warherc and said, "The first bitter fruits of this deed are already in my mouth. I can no longer use my art to heal your wounds, my lord, and I fear that you may die."

  "Then at least let me drink, my love. At your hand I will be content with that."

  Sisme wondered at his words: for never in all their years had the Lord of the Tarsi declared his love for her. Then she spake: "Alas, there is no water on this hill and I am afraid to leave you helpless, Warherc, while I go down to the river. Wild beasts have come already to feed on the fallen."

  "Nay, my love. Fresh water runs here beside me. It is but beyond my reach."

  And Sisme looked and was astonished to see a spring of purest crystal welled from the dry ground where she had sat by his side. And she gave him water from the spring, cupping it in her hands, and in the instant that he drank of it, he was made whole. Thus it was that a fount arose where the tears of Sisme had fallen in the dust, a symbol of her unblemished heart. It was said that from that day she passed beyond all magic, for no shadow remained in her for the spirits and powers to lay hold upon. Those who have found the fount and drunk of it say the waters are sometimes sweet and sometimes bitter, but all are restored in spirit as well as body.

  The Fountain of Sisme: from The Annals of the High Kings, Karkor Archives.

  Karkor: The Under-Temple

  At sunset the Black Stone was dragged back on its ceremonial carriage into the Temple of Ajeddak. Once relieved of its intimidating presence, the city went wild. As soon as the great temple doors clanged shut, fireworks shot into the sky and a running party began in every crowded street.

  No hint of the noisy revelry outside penetrated the thick temple walls. Deep within in the innermost sanctuary, where the Black Stone had come to rest, there was almost a negation of sound. The wheels of the carriage, and the feet of the hundred fearful priests who pulled it, raised not the least vibration or whisper in that deathlike stillness. As the priests departed, all light and movement in the chamber went with them. Alone in the suffocating dark the Stone crouched and waited.

  Some time later - hours had no meaning in this place - light appeared again, a lantern which showed briefly while three people were thrust in through a small side door. It closed and Berin, Tariska and Idressin were trapped in the numbing da
rk with the invisible predator which lay in wait for them.

  They sat down close together against the wall with the tutor in the middle. Already the air was vibrating with menace and the first brush of contact touched their minds, like a catspaw of wind on a lake before a storm. They linked hands, as Idressin had instructed, and at once the young pair stopped trembling and relaxed. It was as if the tutor had put a magic barrier around their hearts that would keep them safe no matter what happened. Their minds cleared and they realised that the Stone was already at work in them.

  "Let go," Idressin had said. "You will not be able to resist the Stone. If you try, you will suffer and eventually be consumed. Be like thistledown in the wind and go where it takes you. Have no fear, I will guard your spirits."

  They were aware of a sentient force exploring inside them, lightly and slowly at first and then faster and faster as it greedily penetrated every corner of their minds and feelings.

  Tariska soon found it quite pleasant. Memories were being evoked, ranging right back to her earliest years, of times when she had been praised, by her schoolteacher for a brilliant essay, by her father for her prettiness, by a friend for an act of generosity. She dwelt on all these gratifying occasions at length, and then subtly other recollections began to intrude, times when she had been just as brilliant, just as kind, but she had not received the acknowledgement she deserved. She saw over and over again how others had misjudged her, not maliciously, but simply blind to her qualities. It was her motives which were so often misunderstood, she could see that now. People judged her by her actions, by what they saw, when her intentions had always been flawless. In fact as the seemingly limitless roll of memories continued to unfold, more painful moments started to return also.

  How could her father have believed she had stolen that money, when she had only borrowed it? And to make her confess to her victim had been so humiliating, she could feel the burn of it all these years later. Of course he was being unfair, maybe because he loved her, maybe not, but there was no doubt that she had not merited punishment. Other hurtful occasions came back which had left similar scars, some merely minor slights, some so sore that she still shied away from the memory even now.

  She was sure that all those who had maligned her or misconstrued her actions would quickly realise how wrong they had been. And if they didn't, well, who needed friends like that? Or relations for that matter? She didn't have a mother any more, to keep looking over her shoulder; that was one relief at least. As for her father, if he wanted to maintain their relationship, he was just going to have to see that she was beyond his criticism now; it was up to him.

  She felt quite clearly that she was being healed. All the wounds to her self-esteem which lingered like abscesses in her life were being erased one by one. So far not one incident had been recalled in which she had been truly at fault. Her happiness was a rising tide which made her feel like singing. What a wonderful person she was! All the doubts about herself, which had plagued her as long as she could remember, were falling away and a wholly new Tariska was beginning to emerge.

  Karkor: The Dungeons

  Noise dragged the prisoner from the oblivion of sleep and into the painful present. Footsteps and lights coming down the tunnel. So it was starting again. It must have been two days since the last time, and incredibly he had felt disoriented and empty without this grim test of will. He sat up wearily with his back to the bars of his cage and waited, eyes closed against the light.

  A gate squealed open, then clanged shut.

  "How about leaving us a lantern?"

  A stranger's voice. Sammar's mind made the sluggish leap: they hadn't come to take him for interrogation again, this was something else. New inmates for this black hell-hole, in the cell next to his.

  "Cost yer. Two Impies."

  That voice he knew well: the corporal of the guard. Sammar opened his eyes and blinked in the light. One figure stood just inside the next cell and he could just make out two more in the shadows. Two Imperials for a lantern! It was outrageous, but then prisoners were not well-placed to bargain.

  The corporal's assessment was similar. "Yer might as well give us all yer got, matey. Yer won't be needin' it, will yer? "

  "The others might need it," the stranger remarked mildly.

  "If yer believe any crap yer've bin told about lettin' any of yer go, ye're dafter than yer look." The guard drew his hand across his throat and rolled his eyes dramatically. "From what I've 'eard, yer all for the chop tomorrer or day after. 'S not called the Death 'Ole for nothin'. They reckon no one's come out an' lived in two 'undred years. Eh well, suit yerself. 'Ow about giving me another five Impies and I'll bring yer some food in the mornin'?"

  "Alright. You bring the food and a fresh light and I'll give you the five when we've got it. Decent food, mind, not prisoner's slop."

  The corporal eyed the speaker suspiciously for a moment, until the prisoner drew out a glittering handful of gold Imperials. Even by lantern-light he could see they were the old currency, worth half as much again as the new stuff in the right places. Sammar could see the guard's eyes go wide with greed. He swiftly handed over the lantern and pocketed the two coins with practised speed.

  "Right then. About eight o'clock. And no tricks, or we'll save 'em the trouble of knockin' yer off."

  When the guards departed, the little group gathered round the light, while Sammar lay down quietly in his own cell and tried to puzzle it out. There was something odd about these people. They were lined up for execution according to the guard, but they gave no sign of being afraid. No, more than that, the man bargaining for the lantern had not been angry or pleading or anything, just relaxed as if he was at market. And how had he managed to get this far with a pocketful of Imperials? Sammar's few coins had been stolen within minutes of his arrest.

  Spies? It was possible: likely even. A new tack now that they'd failed to beat information out of him. Not that anything would be visible, of course, when he went for execution: the Empire was too civilised to torture rebels, wasn't it? That was probably why he hadn't been sent to the Stone too: it was said it could read minds, but it sent you mad in the process, which wouldn't look good on the big day.

  So they had put these people in the next cell, apparently condemned to die like him, and they expected him to confide in them out of fellow feeling. He smiled grimly to himself. His own life might well be over; but for many of those he cared about the future could be long and full of hope, and he was not about to betray their trust by talking. For the time being he'd just pretend to be asleep and listen.

  In the next cell Idressin sent Berin off with the lantern to find the driest place for them to settle down and they could see from his flickering progress that they were imprisoned in a sizeable space.

  He returned after five minutes. "It goes back quite a way, then closes right down and it's even wetter back there, pools of water. We might as well stop here. What do we do now, Idressin? Are you going to bribe our way out?"

  "It wouldn't work. The guards want the money, but it would mean a slow and nasty death for them if they let us escape. What we do now is get some sleep, while we can."

  "I don't think I could," Tariska said wearily. "I'm absolutely worn out, but this place scares me stiff. There's something really depressing and creepy about it, and as for that priest who brought us down here…." She gave an involuntary shiver. " He didn't say much, but he was…. I don't know what he was, he just made my skin crawl. Then tomorrow we'll be…"

  "Ignore tomorrow, Tikka, and try to sleep. You too, Berin. You've both done it before. No one's going to bother us down here, we've got this nice damp hole to ourselves for the night. Morning's the time for new plans."

  There was more movement for a few minutes, then the sounds subsided. After a while Sammar opened his eyes just a slit. The lantern was still alight, trimmed low. He could see the man Idressin sitting cross-legged to one side of it and faintly beyond him the darker mass he presumed to be the other two. Well, as th
e man said, no one was going to bother any of them tonight, so like any experienced prisoner Sammar simply closed his eyes again and drifted away.

  "It's not human," Tariska said flatly.

  "It was," came the tutor's quiet reply.

  Tariska had woken to fear. Not of their situation: so much had gone desperately wrong and they had still survived, that the thought of death just left her numb. The fear was in part due to the oppressiveness of their surroundings. There was something more threatening here than darkness, damp and a few cockroaches: something worse, Berin agreed, than being underground in the mine. And she was afraid of the priest they had encountered the night before.

  After what had seemed untold hours in the chamber of the Black Stone, the small side door had opened again and a grey-robed figure had entered with a lantern, his face shadowed by a cowl. At his signal they had followed him along a maze of underground passages.

  Tariska had been directly behind the priest. Little by little a question inserted itself into the fringe of her consciousness and drifted gently to the surface. What was the Talisman like? Could she actually picture it in her mind? She ran through a variety of possibilities, a large jewel, a ring, a glowing crystal ball, and as one image replaced another, she felt a faint brush of disappointment. But not hers! The feeling came from someone else. She was still tingling with the shock when she began to follow the thread of feeling and search out the source.